


The Best Things

by Cdelphiki



Series: In For a Pound [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Angst, Cass is an assassin baby, Despite Alfred's best efforts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Jason Todd has a potty mouth, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 111,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: Bruce was starting to understand the jokes about him and adopting strays. But it’s not like he ever went looking for kids to adopt. They just sort of… appeared.Besides, the neighbor boy clearly had no one, and Bruce could not in good conscience let that assassin girl go back to parents who had treated her so badly.If that meant Bruce adopted two more kids, so be it. It’s not like he didn’t have the room.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, background Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle
Series: In For a Pound [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334581
Comments: 2424
Kudos: 4072





	1. Tim

**Author's Note:**

> "The Best Things in Life are Free"
> 
> -
> 
> This fic is part of a series, but it CAN be read as a stand alone with no trouble. This series is exploring how the batfam changed when Talia dumped Damian off on Bruce when he was a little baby.

Waiting.

That’s all Tim did anymore.

Wait.

Wait for his parents to come home. Wait for the housekeeper to come over. Wait for school to start back. Wait for Batman to swing past his hiding spot.

Wait.

Lots and lots of waiting.

Just like he was doing now.

As he waited for his dad to pick him up from school.

He’d promised, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he said that morning he would pick Tim up? Because he and Mom had come back in time for the New Year, and now were in town until mid-February.

_February._

Dad was going to drive Tim to and from school _every day_ for over a _whole month._

Right?

That is what he said, after all. Tim was pretty sure. He had a good memory. And Dad had _promised._

But then again….

Dad wasn’t here.

School let out an hour ago, and Dad wasn’t here.

Tim looked down at his empty lock screen for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes, _hoping_ that _this time_ there would be a text he’d somehow missed.

Despite turning silent mode off.

And turning the ringer to full.

3:52, his phone said. Now one hour and two minutes past when school let out.

Had Dad forgotten?

Tim had texted. Twice. Once fifteen minutes after school let out, and then thirty. Then he called, at 45 minutes after.

Should he call again? He didn’t want to be too annoying, because what if Dad was busy?

What if he had an important meeting and all of Tim’s nagging was ruining it for him?

Maybe he should just call Mom.

But, no. She was out with friends today. Friends she hadn’t seen in six months. She’d been so excited about it, and wasn’t supposed to come home until after dinner. That’s all she talked about at breakfast. Tim shouldn’t bother her.

He should just wait.

But… it was cold. And Tim needed a ride home.

No. No, Dad would come get him when he could. Especially since he had two texts and a missed call from Tim. There was no way he could forget. That would remind him.

Hopefully.

Otherwise he’d need to call a cab, and he’d rather do that sooner than later.

Again. It was _cold._

“Drake,” a voice behind him said, making Tim jump so hard he was mildly surprised he didn’t fall off the curb he was sitting on.

“Oh,” Tim said, when he turned around to see who had spoken to him. He was more surprised to see Damian Wayne standing there, looking slightly annoyed, but mostly curious.

The whole calling him by his last name was new, though. Damian was such a weirdo, sometimes. Because Tim _knew_ he wasn’t doing it in a snobby way, the way other kids at Gotham Academy did. Throwing your last name back in your face, if you weren’t from one of the ‘old money’ families. Damian wasn't like that. He was weird, for a billionaire's kid.

But then again, when your dad is literally Batman, you were bound to turn out weird. And definitely nothing like the snobs around them.

“Wayne?” Tim said, grimacing at himself as he turned back around. He didn’t really know how to talk to Damian. How _does_ one talk to one of Batman’s kids?

Why would Damian want to talk to him, anyway? He knew Nightwing and Batgirl personally. Tim was just… Tim.

No one wanted to talk to Tim.

“Why are you sitting outside?” Damian asked, hopping off the sidewalk and practically bouncing down to sit next to Tim, “Is your caretaker coming?”

“Oh, uh,” Tim said, clicking his phone screen on and off again, just long enough to frown at it again. He didn’t know why, but everyone thought Mrs. Mac was his nanny, or something. She wasn’t. His nanny got fired last year, and Mom and Dad felt he didn’t need a new one. Not if Mrs. Mac drove him to school.

But regardless, she wasn’t coming, since she took vacation while his parents were in town. “No. My dad is supposed to pick me up.”

Damian narrowed his eyes and almost glared at him, like Tim were a puzzle he was trying to solve, then asked, “Why is he late? Did he have car trouble too? Alfred got a flat and had to change it.”

“Um,” Tim started, but he really wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know why Dad wasn’t there. Well. Okay. He did know. Probably. But it’s not like he could just _say_ his dad forgot about him. That would make people think Dad was bad, because only bad parents forget about their kids. That’s what they always say on TV and stuff. But Dad wasn’t bad. He was just very, very busy, and usually someone else picked Tim up, so it wasn’t even his fault he forgot.

Tim didn’t want people to think Dad was bad.

Plus, he wasn't _really_ sure that’s what happened. Not entirely. He _could_ just be very busy at work.

Before he could figure out how to answer Damian, he was saved by Mr. Pennyworth’s car pulling up. Or, technically Mr. Wayne’s car, probably, but Mr. Pennyworth was definitely driving it.

Damian launched to his feet, and grinned widely when Mr. Pennyworth stepped out.

“Good afternoon, Master Damian,” Mr. Pennyworth said while opening the backdoor for Damian, “I apologize for my tardiness.”

“That’s okay, Alfred,” Damian said, still grinning widely as he placed his backpack in Mr. Pennyworth’s outstretched hand, “Ms. Harris let me hang out with the art club. We made clay sculptures!”

“That is fantastic.” Once he placed Damian’s backpack inside the car, he turned to Tim and said, “Hello, young Mr. Drake, is it? Do you have a ride coming?”

Tim nodded, but before he could respond, Damian said, “He said his dad was supposed to get him but he’s not here.”

“Oh my, do you know when he will arrive?”

“Um,” Tim said, unlocking his phone again to check his texts. He couldn’t help the frown that formed on his face again, because Dad hadn’t even read his texts yet.

He hadn’t even _opened_ the text line.

Alfred seemed to see his texts, because he frowned, too.

“Well, I would be more than happy to give you a ride home, if you think it'd be all right with him.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Pennyworth, I don’t want to bother you,” Tim said quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket. Dad would certainly _not_ be happy about him begging a ride off a neighbor. Especially Bruce Wayne’s butler. “I’m sure Dad is on his way.”

And even if Dad didn’t mind, surely Mr. Pennyworth had far more important things than drive Tim home. He could just call a cab.

“Nonsense, young sir, it is no bother. We will pass your house, regardless.”

“That’s okay, my dad-“ Tim started, but stopped when Mr. Pennyworth picked up his backpack and smiled at him.

“-would surely prefer you wait some place warm while he takes care of whatever emergency has delayed him.”

Tim hesitated for a second longer, even after Mr. Pennyworth had placed his bag in the trunk and Damian had scooted to the middle seat, so Tim could sit next to him. He really couldn’t turn this down, could he?

“Excellent,” Mr. Pennyworth said, when Tim finally got into the car, “Why don’t you let your father know I’m giving you a ride, and that I would be happy to speak with him if necessary, all right, lad?”

Nodding, Tim watched as Mr. Pennyworth shut the car door for him, then fished his phone out of his pocket.

Dad wouldn’t want to talk to Mr. Pennyworth. He’ll probably want to talk to Tim later, though…

When his text said ‘delivered,’ Tim just frowned down at it. Because now there were three texts all in a row, all from Tim. And none were marked read. The last text Dad had read happened nearly a week ago.

Hopefully nothing bad had happened…

Mr. Pennyworth cleared his throat, making Tim look up and see that he was looking straight at Tim, using the rearview mirror. “I must insist you wear your seat belt, young sir.”

“Oh,” Tim said, looking down at himself, then back up at Mr. Pennyworth. Smiling a little shyly, Tim quickly buckled himself in, then muttered, “sorry.” Of course the Batman family would take stuff like that seriously.

Dad and Mrs. Mac didn’t.

Which was fine, since they never got into accidents.

Before he even realized they’d started moving, they were stopping again. This time, in front of the middle school. And Tim just froze a little.

Because that could only mean one thing.

And sure enough, before Mr. Pennyworth had even managed to get out of the car, Jason Wayne had opened the door opposite Tim and slipped into the car.

 _The_ Jason Wayne.

“Geez Alfie, how many times I gotta tell you I can get in the car all by myself.”

“Forgive me, Master Jason, for performing my duties.”

Jason grinned as he fastened his seatbelt, then turned that smile on Tim and said, “Hey. The half pint has friends. Who woulda thought. I’m Jason.”

“He’s our neighbor,” Damian interjected.

“Neighbor? We don’t have neighbors.”

“Sure we do,” Damian said, pulling out his phone to start playing some game on it, “and Tim’s one.”

“Where do you even live,” Jason asked, leaning forward so he was looking straight at Tim, around Damian.

“Um,” Tim stuttered, feeling a little stuck. Because, again, _Jason Wayne_ was talking to him.

The kid Batman had quite literally hand picked. The kid who overcame homelessness and who knew what else to rise to the top of his class. The kid who had already given speeches at galas, and attended board meetings for the charity he started, and had somehow convinced everyone in Gotham that he was far more than a ‘street rat,’ despite what a few still murmured about him.

And, most importantly, the kid _Batman_ was probably training to be like _Robin._

Just like he’d adopted and trained Dick Grayson, before him.

Tim spent many-a-hours wondering what name Jason would pick. And why it’d been a year and a half since Batman picked Jason up, and he had yet to make his debut out on the streets. There had to be some reason, because it wasn’t like Jason didn’t have the right temperament.

Perhaps Batman had a height and weight requirement. Jason was still really small for his age, caused by the malnutrition of his life in Crime Alley, no doubt.

“Next door,” Damian said, rolling his eyes, “Right, Tim?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Tim said, nodding mutely, “I- I live next door.”

Jason huffed out a silent laugh, then said, “There is no next door, kid.”

Damian scoffed, then looked up at Tim and said, “Ignore my brother, he’s an idiot.”

“Fuck you, demonbrat,” Jason retorted, just to get an immediate withering glare from Mr. Pennyworth.

“Master Jason, that will be another 30 minutes of chores.”

“Aw, come on, Alfie, he started it! He called me an idiot.”

Tim sank down in his chair, unsure how to behave while Mr. Pennyworth continued to chastise, “Two wrongs do not make a right. Master Damian, do refrain from name-calling. And none of this is any way to behave in front of a guest.”

“Sorry, kid,” Jason grumbled, while Damian, similarly, said, “Sorry, Tim.”

“Um.”

“So,” Jason said, before Tim could figure anything else to say, and Tim was starting to see a pattern. The Wayne kids were really high energy, apparently. And talkative. Not entirely shocking, based on Nightwing’s behavior. “If you’re Damian’s friend that lives next door, how come you never come over? You totally could, get the brat off my back for a while, ya know?”

“ _Jason,”_ Damian whispered, only making Jason grin wider at Tim.

“Well, I’m not really…” he started, but stopped, because he didn’t want to say Damian wasn’t his friend. Even though they _weren’t_ friends, since Damian was eight and Tim was ten. They were also two grades apart. And had never spoken before. Not really. But _saying_ someone wasn’t his friend was very rude, and he didn’t want to be rude to Damian Wayne. Or anyone, actually, but especially not one of Batman’s kids.

That just seemed… awful. Like an awful, terrible thing to do.

“Uh. Mr. Pennyworth is just giving me a ride home, is all.”

“Alfred, young sir,” _Alfred,_ apparently, said, “None of this ‘Mr. Pennyworth’ nonsense.”

“Um, yes-yessir, uh, Alfred.”

“Geez, relax, okay?” Jason said, settling himself down as he started up a game on his phone, too, “we’re not gonna eat ya.”

“I…” Tim said slowly, blinking a couple times, “didn’t think you were?”

Was he acting bad? Yeah, he was a little anxious, but was it really _that_ obvious? He always tried very hard to not let his feelings show.

He didn't want to seem ungrateful for this ride, or anything. What if that was how they interpreted his lack of talking? Maybe he should say something.

But, then again, he didn't really want to bother any of them. And he couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid.

“Has your father responded, young sir,” Alfred asked, after a minute had passed in painful silence. Tim was so grateful for the distraction, he answered immediately.

“No, sir.”

“Hmm. What about your mother, is she available?”

“Well, she’s out with her friends today and wasn’t supposed to get back until tonight.”

“Is there someone at home for you, then?” Alfred asked, quickly casting concerned eyes at Tim through the rear view mirror.

“Uhh…”

“Your nanny, perhaps?”

“I don’t have a, uh, nanny,” Tim said, and by the way Alfred frowned harder, he realized he’d given the wrong answer. He wasn’t sure _what_ was wrong about it, since it’s not like Tim couldn’t take care of himself. He didn’t _need_ a nanny, and he still didn’t understand why everyone just assumed he had one.

“Your parents travel a lot, do they not?” Alfred asked,

“Yes, sir.”

“Does someone else take care of you, then? While they are away?”

“Like, cook me food and take me to school?” Tim asked, hoping that was what Alfred meant by ‘taking care of him.’ Because it’s not like he was a baby, who quite literally needed to be cared for. He was ten. He could get dressed and go to bed all by himself.

When Alfred nodded, Tim smiled and said, “Yeah, Mrs. Mac does that.”

“Excellent,” Alfred said, looking relieved, “Will she be home for you?”

“Uh, no. She’s on vacation right now. Mom and Dad are doing all that this month.”

“Hmm, well,” Alfred said, as they crossed the bridge into Bristol, “I would feel much better if you spent the afternoon with us. Perhaps I could call your father and leave a message for him? I couldn’t in good conscience leave a child alone for an undetermined amount of time.”

“I-“ Tim started, but then froze. Because crap. He couldn’t just…. Go over to the Waynes house.

To _Batman’s_ house.

They had stuff to do! Really important stuff, and if Tim were stuck there for a while, waiting on Mom and Dad to come get him, they wouldn’t be able to do that stuff! Because they didn’t know he knew, and if he told them, Batman would probably make him stop. Or tell his parents, and _they’d_ make him stop.

He- he-

Photographing Batman and Nightwing and Batgirl was the only fun thing he had in his life. He couldn’t _stop._ He couldn’t-

“Want to play the Nintendo with me?” Damian asked, so suddenly, Tim startled at his voice.

“After homework,” Alfred said, turning onto their road and passing right by Tim’s house.

“Aw, Alfred,” Damian whined, “Can’t I do that later. It’s Friday and we _never_ have people over. I want to play Mario Kart with Tim.”

“We had young Mr. Kent over just last week,” Alfred said, as they pulled through the Wayne Estate gates.

“And Roy’s over all the time,” Jason added, just making Damian scowl at him.

“We were babysitting Jon because he’s _five_ , he doesn’t count, and Roy is _your_ friend,” Damian pouted, “ _Please,_ Alfred. I promise I’ll do it all tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

Alfred gave Damian a serious look, then tsked at him. “First thing in the morning.”

“All right! Tim, want to play Mario Kart with me? We also have lots of other games, if you don’t like that one.”

“Um.” Tim wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. No one had ever invited him to play video games with him before. He _had_ Mario Kart, but he’d never played it with friends before.

Because… he didn’t have friends.

His last nanny played with him, though. So it’s not like he didn’t know how to.

“Better say yes, Timbo. He doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, anyway.”

“Shut up, Jason.”

“Make me, squirt.”

Alfred put the car in park, inside the largest garage Tim had ever seen, and said, “Must I remind you to behave yourselves in front of our guest?”

And as Jason and Damian poured out of the car, Tim felt absolutely dazed.

Because here he was, in Bruce Wayne’s house, about to play video games with his son.

All while Alfred kept calling him a ‘guest’ and Jason grinned at him and kept talking to him.

That…

Tim wasn’t sure what to make of any of this, but…

But it was kind of maybe a little nice.

And when Alfred got Dad’s number from him to call, Tim found himself hoping Dad wasn’t coming home for at least a couple hours. Just so he could enjoy this little bit of time.

Getting to spend time with Batman's family was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of event.

Hopefully it wouldn’t disrupt Batman’s schedule too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! I hope y'all are as excited as I am!


	2. Bruce

Everything felt off from pretty much the moment Bruce stepped through the Manor door. 

It wasn’t off in a negative way, or anything. The atmosphere inside just felt… different. 

For one, he could hear the boys carrying on and yelling at the television, four rooms down. Both of them shouting at each other and the other characters in whatever game they were playing. Bruce would bet his left shoe that it was Mario Kart, just based on the conversation he could hear. 

It wasn’t often Jason and Damian played video games as intensely as they apparently were in that moment. Maybe that was the _different_ he could feel. Jason didn’t like video games. Not nearly as much as some teenage boys, at least. And while Damian enjoyed games, he never got this into them. 

Not unless Roy was around to really rile him up. 

The other off thing was the smell in the air. 

Alfred was baking.

_Peach cobbler._

And making… stew?

Was today a special day? It was… it was January 10th, right? Not an important date, as far as Bruce could remember. No one’s birthday. This wasn’t a day where one of the kids would have requested such a simple yet classic meal. The only time Alfred made things like this.

It was just… another Friday.

Right?

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted, when Bruce stepped into the kitchen, choosing to see what the special occasion was _before_ he looked in on the boys, “welcome home, sir. How was work, today?”

“Hey Alf,” he said, smiling as he made his way over to the stove, to get a good look at the stew, “It was fine. Boring. Three meetings and had to tour around the CEO of Emerson.”

“Sounds absolutely dreadful, sir.”

Bruce grinned, always amused by Alfred’s dry tone, and peeked into the pot Alfred was stirring. “What are you making?”

Shooing Bruce away, Alfred said, “Beef stew, sir. With peach cobbler for dessert.”

“Any special occasion?”

The way Alfred frowned as he said, “Not exactly, sir,” had Bruce raising an eyebrow.

Clearly the boys weren’t sick, considering how loud they were being. _Both_ boys were whiney sick kids. He would have already known about either of them coming down with something, because Alfred would have passive aggressively let him know about it, _and_ one or both of them would have texted him all about how miserable they were and how annoyed the other one was. 

But whatever it was clearly had Alfred a little rattled.

“We have a guest,” Alfred said, only adding to Bruce’s confusion, “The young Drake boy.”

Which, really explained absolutely nothing. 

Usually Alfred went all out and over the top when someone was over. Not… the exact opposite. 

“Is that why the boys are being so… boisterous?”

With that, Alfred smiled a little fondly, as he reduced the heat on the stew a little and placed the lid back on it. “Yes. I must say, I am quite proud of their behavior tonight.” 

Odd. 

“I didn’t know they knew… Timothy? Is that his name?” Bruce said, trying to remember if either of them had ever talked about the Drake boy. He was about 10, he thought. Somewhere right between Damian and Jason’s age. 

Neither boy had friends at school. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about _that._ Then again, he didn’t feel it was very necessary to fix. 

Both got along great with the other children of the League and Titans. Even Damian, being much younger than most of the teenagers, got along splendidly. He seemed perfectly content with his brothers and their friends, and the occasional company of Jon Kent. A friendship Bruce was sure would develop further the older Jon got. 

But that was the League. That was Bruce’s friends’ kids. It was normal there to have large age gaps. 

At school? 

Befriending a child a couple grades above or below you simply _through_ school was highly unlikely. 

“Yes, sir, I believe he goes by ‘Tim,” Alfred said, as he started filling a carafe with water. Bruce tried to help by holding his hand out when Alfred pulled it down, but his hand got swatted away. “I don’t believe they did know him. Master Damian seemed to be acquainted with him, but they clearly had never spoken much before today.”

“Hm. So how’d he end up over here playing with the boys?”

“Here, set that on the server,” Alfred said, finally handing Bruce the carafe before he grabbed another to fill with iced tea, “When I arrived at the school, I found him sitting on the curb, waiting for his father in the cold.”

That made Bruce pause. “Weren’t you over an hour late?” Alfred had texted him, just before school was set to let out, letting him know about the flat he’d suffered. He’d refused all offer of help, of course. Bruce would have gladly retrieved the boys from school, if only to get away from the meeting he’d been stuck in.

But Alfred refused him, of course. Told him in no uncertain terms that he was to remain at work and stick the meeting out. He could handle a simple flat, and the boys were more than happy to stay after school.

Bruce would need to look at the tire, later. He could plug it, if it were a small puncture, but purchasing a new set of tires might be the easier option. Those tires were several years old, after all.

“Precisely, sir. The young Masters both waited for me inside, in the heat, with proper supervision. The young Mr. Drake, however, spent that hour sitting in the cold.”

“That’s…” Bruce started, but then floundered. Why had he been sitting outside? Didn’t any of the staff notice? Hadn’t his caretaker informed him they would be late? Was he not aware he could wait for his ride inside? 

Did he not know whether he even had a ride coming?

“Troubling,” he settled on. Because any one of those options was nothing less than concerning. 

“Indeed. And I’m afraid I’ve been unable to reach his parents since bringing him back to the Manor with us.”

“Do you think they’re okay?” Bruce asked, already pulling his own cell phone out to find Jack Drake in his contacts. He and the Drakes had never been _friends,_ but they were at least _friendly_. 

Friendly enough to have their cell phone numbers, at least.

Alfred hummed, as he checked on the stew again. “I’m not sure. I was waiting for you to arrive home, sir, to see what actions you wished to take.”

Right.

“I guess right now we try to reach the Drakes,” he said, already tapping call on Jack Drake’s contact page. He straightened up, when not even a full ring into the call, he heard, “ _Hello? This is Jack Drake, leave a message-“_

“For heaven sake,” he mumbled, ending the call, “who starts their voicemail message off with ‘hello?’” He quickly navigated to Janet Drake’s contact, and hit call on that. But, just as it had with Jack, it cut to voicemail almost immediately. 

Which was fantastic. 

Kind of ruled out them getting into a car accident and being stranded on the side of the road somewhere, though. This was their phones being _off._ Not unanswered.

Kidnapping?

“I left both the Drakes a voicemail,” Alfred said, stirring the stew again as he cut the heat off, “but both of their phones have been sending straight to voicemail all evening.”

“Hm. Does Tim know where they are?”

Alfred sighed, and said, “He claimed his father was meant to retrieve him from school, and his mother wasn’t to be home until after dinner tonight.”

“What about his nanny? Where is she in all this?”

Bruce almost wished he hadn’t asked, because the anger that flashed across Alfred’s face set a pit in his stomach. 

“According to Timothy, he does not _have_ a nanny.”

How was that even _possible?_ It had to be illegal. Unless he had other family who stayed with him all the time, there was _no way_ he didn’t have a nanny. Because the Drakes were rarely in town. 

“Who watches him when his parents are off doing… whatever it is they do? Archeology?”

 _Someone_ had to be watching him. Taking care of him. 

The kid was _ten._

“I asked him that very question,” Alfred fumed, “and it seemed to confuse him. Once clarifying I meant ‘cook him food and take him to school,’ he named a ‘Mrs. Mac’ as his caretaker.”

Oh, good. “Great. Let’s call her.”

“I tried, sir, but she is currently on vacation for the next month.”

Well there killed that. 

Bruce rubbed at his temple and tried to think. 

_How_ did this happen?

“Well,” he said, sighing, “I guess I’ll go speak to Timothy myself and decide from there. Perhaps I can get in touch with someone from Drake Industries…” 

Hopefully nothing horrible happened to the Drake. Their phones being off was really tripping Bruce up, because otherwise he’d jump straight to ‘horrible accident.’ 

But those phones… 

Kidnappers could have snatched them, and then turned their phones _off,_ but then even that didn’t make much sense. Typically kidnappers just tossed the phones out the window. Into a ditch. Into the _trash._

And why would _both_ the Drakes be kidnapped?

As far as Bruce was aware, neither of them were into nefarious business dealings. A ransom demand would have been made against one or the other. 

Or against Tim…

But what else could have happened?

Because what other possibilities were there? The only other thing Bruce could come up with was them _forgetting_ about Timothy… 

What kind of parent would just _forget_ about their kid?

Bruce was never impressed by the Drakes and their… well, lack of parenting. But that’s what nannies were for. Bruce was never once concerned for their child, because he _knew_ they employed a nanny. 

Didn’t they?

Apparently not.

“Dinner is in ten minutes, sir,” Alfred called after him, as he started making his way down the hall. 

He really needed to speak to Tim and try to figure this out. 

To Bruce’s relief, the atmosphere in the den was much lighter than that of the kitchen. 

The boys didn’t seem to be fretting over any of this at all. Because when he stopped in the doorway, all he could see was Damian and Tim playing Mario Kart together, both of them very into it, and both of them clearly having a blast.

Jason was sitting off to the side, watching with rapt attention, cheering _Tim_ on, despite Damian being in first place. 

His brother’s betrayal was not taken lightly by Damian, because every time Jason said something like, “Come on, Tim, knock his butt off the cliff,” Damian would respond with an indignant squawk. 

“Whose side are you _on?”_

“Not yours!” Jason responded, grinning viciously when Damian whined again. When he caught Bruce’s eye, he motioned with his head toward Tim, then turned his attention back to the screen.

Bruce couldn’t see Tim’s face, but based on how his legs were crossed up on the couch, and his shoulders were relaxed, Bruce would bet he was smiling. 

No wonder Alfred was proud of the boys. Bruce knew they could be friendly, but he had no idea they could make a kid feel so at home so quickly. 

He watched for a good minute as the boys continued to race. Tim fell back to sixth place during lap two, and it seemed to pay off for him, because he scored three red shells from one of the prize boxes. 

Once he had that, he sped back up and caught up to Damian, keeping himself in second place, his red shells spinning around him in a protective circle. He lost one when a NPC threw a shell at him, and then another when another caught up to them, very briefly. 

But, when it came down to the last few seconds of the final lap, he had managed to hold onto his one last red shell, and it was then that his strategy really came to light. 

Because just before Damian was set to pass across the finish line, Tim trailing behind him by about five or six ‘car lengths,’ Tim shot off his final red shell and zipped right past Damian, as his character stalled out just long enough for Tim to secure the win. 

“No fair,” Damian shouted, throwing his controller down on the ground, “That is cheating!”

Jason, on the other hand, couldn’t be more enthused. “All right, Timbo!” he cheered, “B, did you see that? Tim’s the _man._ ” 

With a quiet chuckle, Bruce stepped fully into the room and said, “Yes, I did. That was pretty impressive.”

At his words, Tim visibly froze, his shoulders inching right up to his ears as he slowly turned to face Bruce. His eyes were wide as saucers, and based on how his mouth moved, ever so slightly, it seemed like he was _trying_ to say something, but couldn’t get the words out. 

He felt more than a _little_ bad for causing that reaction. 

“Hi, Tim,” he said, trying to relax his own posture and smile in his ‘least creepy’ manner, according to Jason, “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Bruce.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim said, nodding his head a little stiffly, “uh, Mr. Wayne. We met a few years ago, at the hospital’s gala.”

“Just Bruce is fine, and yes. It’s nice to see you again. I’m glad you and the boys are getting along so well.”

Tim ducked his head a little more, as he turned back around to face the screen. When he didn’t say anything else, Damian piped up with, “We should have Tim over more.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, “it’s pretty great watching the brat get his rear kicked at Mario Kart.” 

“Shut up, Jason.” 

“Boys,” Bruce said, placing a hand on Damian’s head to shush him, “Tim is most certainly welcome whenever he wants. Tim, have you been able to get in contact with your parents this evening?”

Turning back around, allowing Bruce to see the redness of his cheeks, Tim said, “No, sir.”

“Bruce, son,” he reminded, then frowned, “Neither have we. Is there anyone at your parents’ company that might be able to get us into contact with your dad?”

“Uh, well, there’s Dad’s personal assistant?” 

“Excellent,” he said, because if there was one person in the world that could reach Jack Drake, it would be his assistant. Heaven knows _Alfred,_ while not his ‘assistant’ in name, definitely acted like it most the time, would be the best person to track Bruce down at any one moment. “Do you have their number?”

Tim nodded eagerly, and pulled his phone out, as he said, “Yes, s- uh. Yes.”

After typing the number into his own phone, Bruce ruffled Tim’s hair and said, “Thanks, kiddo. I’m going to call him now.” As he walked out of the room, he chose to ignore how absolutely stunned Tim looked. 

The phone rang through to voicemail, which wasn’t too surprising for 6 on a Friday. At least it had _rung._ Meaning someone had either not heard it, or chosen to ignore the call. When Bruce hung up and redialed, however, a very tired sounding person answered with a, “Hello?” after only two rings. 

“Hi, Peter?” Bruce asked, stopping just outside the kitchen to have this conversation. 

“Yes,” Peter responded, sounding more exasperated by the second.

“This is Bruce Wayne. I’m trying to get in touch with Jack or Janet Drake. Could you help me?”

“Oh,” Peter said, then paused while Bruce heard the rustling of fabric and something thumping around in the background, “Yes, yes. Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I can certainly give you their numbers, but Mr. and Mrs. Drake are currently on their way to Australia. Their plane won’t land for another 10 hours, so I’m afraid tomorrow is the earliest they’ll be able to get back to you.”

Right.

Because… right. 

On a plane. 

To Australia.

 _That’s_ where they were. 

Bruce had to count his breaths, all the way to five, before he was able to respond with, “Do you know if they made any arrangements for their son?”

“Uh, Tim?” Peter said, clearly floundering, “I believe they employ a nanny, but I don’t have her number or anything.” 

Of course not. 

Why would this be easy?

“So you don’t know anything about who cares for Tim?” Bruce said, trying his best not to allow any of his annoyance seep out into his voice.

He wasn’t doing very well.

“No sir, I’m afraid not,” Peter said slowly, “Is everything okay? Is there something wrong with Tim?”

Rubbing at his face, Bruce took one more deep breath, then said, “Everything’s fine. Thank you, Peter, I already have the Drakes’ numbers. I guess now I know why they weren’t answering their phones. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem, sir! Have a good evening.”

“You as well,” he said, just barely keeping the growl back long enough to press the ‘end call’ button.

“ _Fuck.”_

He nearly hit the wall, but last second released the tension in his hands and stretched them out. 

Punching walls never went over well in his house. 

Not since Jason came along. 

It always freaked the kid out to see Bruce angry. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred admonished, from the entrance to the kitchen, “How can we expect Master Jason to watch his language, if you do not?”

“Alfred. The Drakes aren’t answering their phones because they’re on a _plane._ Headed for _Australia.”_

How the _fuck_ could parents just _do that?_

Without even warning their child? Without even a simple text?

And why couldn’t they pay for the wifi on the plane, and still be in contact with everyone? Still receive some texts? 

Maybe _tell their kid they left the country?_

Bruce couldn’t imagine not warning the kids when he had to leave. Even when the Justice League called him up for emergency missions, he _always_ made sure he either said good-bye in person, or at least sent each of them a text. Even _Dick._ Who had been living in Gotham for a few months, already.

They better have fucking made arrangements, and it was _that_ person’s fault Tim was left all alone at Gotham Academy. 

Because if Jack and Janet Drake seriously left their child out in the cold so they could go on a last second trip to Australia… Bruce really wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

Refer them to social services and force parenting classes. 

_“_ Oh, dear,” Alfred said, running a hand through what little hair he still had. 

“And as far as the assistant knows, Tim has a nanny.”

He really, _really_ hoped he did and that Tim was just confused about what that person was to him. 

“He bloody well better,” Alfred snapped, turning on his heel back into the kitchen, “This is unacceptable otherwise.”

Bruce laughed bitterly, and said, “My thoughts exactly, Alfred. My thoughts exactly.”

Because if Tim _didn’t_ have a nanny…

Well. 

Based on his parents ability to just up and leave, without even a second thought about Tim? Seemingly without arranging care for him? Without telling _him_ about those arrangements?

Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise Bruce if Tim _didn’t_ have a nanny.

The Drakes were fucking lucky they were on the other side of the world. Because _Batman_ would have some _words_ for them, otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad y'all are just as excited as I am! Thanks for all your awesome comments! I love reading them. :D 
> 
> Today's been an eventful day. My fridge quit working!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but I think it's running now, so I shoved the freezer full of ice in hopes of saving everything if it quits working again during the night, keep it cold just long enough so my complex's office can open again and someone will actually answer the maintenance line. lol But yeah, despite that, here's the chapter! It's, uh, not proofed. So yeah. 😬 I'll get to that later.
> 
> I have only a rough outline for this whole thing, so this is just a journey we're all going on. Cass will show up soon enough, but at least the first few chapters are going to be about Tim. Then we'll kind of start to switch back and forth between Tim and Cass for a while before they both are present together at the same time. I'm so excited. 🥰
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	3. Jason

Tim was one strange kid. Jason really wasn’t sure what to make of him.

He was so nervous, for one. Very, extremely nervous. Especially around adults.

That… was troubling.

It was troubling, right? Yes, because Jason used to be nervous around adults and he had very good reasons for that.

But, he was better now.

Much better, even if Bruce still treated him with kid gloves a lot.

Most the time.

The sentiment was definitely appreciated, but he was much better. _Tim,_ on the other hand, seemed almost worse than Jason had ever been.

At least Jason could speak clearly and have full on conversations with people, even when he felt the most anxious about his surroundings.

Tim was just a babbling mess of a child.

He’d loosened up, during the hour they played video games together. He seemed most relaxed with Damian, which kind of made sense, Jason supposed. Damian was a little kid. Closer to Tim’s age, closer to his grade, and something about Damian just made playing with him easy.

But he’d relaxed with Jason, too. To the point where Jason was asking questions like “Have you seen the latest Star Wars movie?” and Tim was responding back with full paragraphs talking about his theories for the next one without an ‘um’ or ‘uh’ in sight.

All that went right out the fucking window when Bruce stepped in the room, though.

Because, again. Nervous around adults.

Tim was a stuttering mess trying to talk to Bruce, and Jason was a little embarrassed for him.

Why would a rich kid like Tim be such a mess?

“You know,” Jason said, sliding to walk beside Tim, as they made their way down the hall toward the dining room, “Bruce can look mean, but he’s actually super kind.”

“That’s what I would assume,” was all Tim said, as he walked a little faster and away from Jason, following Damian toward the dining room. He shoved his hands into his pockets and seemed to hunch over the closer they got, and all Jason could do was frown.

Tim was one mess of a little kid.

When they walked into the room, Bruce was already sitting there, and Jason could tell he was _pissed._

Like, ready to throw shit around the room, stomp around, and punch things _pissed._

Jason rarely saw that in Bruce. Because, again, Bruce used the kid gloves with him.

He _shouldn’t._ Bruce’s anger was different. It wasn’t a scary kind of anger. It was a righteous anger, one that pushed him to _protect_ and _fix_ things. Jason loved seeing that anger in him, because in a strange way, it made him feel safer.

Bruce wouldn’t use that anger to hurt him. Or Damian. Or Alfred. Or Dick, when he was around.

No, he’d only use it on those trying to hurt others. On those trying to hurt _them._

It was good.

Tim didn’t seem at all affected by the anger, either. He was just as tense and nervous looking, but he wasn’t _scared._

Whatever.

Maybe he wasn’t scared of adults. Just freaking weird.

Bruce still closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, though, and Jason could just watch as the anger dissipated. Got squished down, and buried deep.

Dinner started out kind of awkward.

More awkward than Jasons first few meals in the Manor.

Cause Tim started bouncing his leg about two-point-three seconds into the meal, when Bruce asked him if he enjoyed playing with ‘the boys.’

Jason hated how Bruce always lumped him in with Damian. _Just because_ they were the same height almost, which was a-whole-nother thing and totally unfair, didn’t mean Jason was a little kid like Damian. He was thirteen and Damian was eight. That was a _huge_ difference.

And! Jason was going to turn _fourteen_ in seven months!

“Yes, sir,” Tim mumbled, staring into his bowl of stew like he was trying to decide if it was going to eat _him._

“Bruce, son,” Bruce said for the millionth time.

Where did Tim even get the habit of saying ‘sir’ anyway? It’s not like _anyone_ at Gotham Academy used it. That was something said _to_ them, not _by_ them cause they were all a bunch of snobs.

Well, most of them. So far Tim seemed like a decent kid. There were probably some scholarship kids that were okay, too. Jason didn’t make it his business to know which kids were the scholarship kids, though. He didn’t care. He wasn’t super interested in making friends there.

Tim shrank down some in his seat, but finally took a bite of his food. Just a tiny one, of a potato, but at least it was _something_.

Did he like beef stew?

Who didn’t like beef stew?

“Does Tim have to go home after dinner?” Damian asked, his legs kicking as he dipped a roll into the stew, “Or can he play some more?”

Apparently the kid was super oblivious to how uncomfortable Tim looked.

The panicky eyes Tim shot Damian before stuttering out, “I need to get home before it gets too late,” made Jason sit up a little more.

Were his parents home? Why would he need to be getting home if no one was there?

“Actually Tim,” Bruce said slowly, “We need to talk about that.”

“My mom will be home soon,” Tim said quickly, giving Bruce a desperate look, “and my dad can’t take too much longer, really, Mr. Wayne, it’s fine. I can wait for them at home.”

“Tim…” Bruce sighed, setting his spoon down and turning to face Tim directly, “I… got ahold of Peter and-“

And fuck.

“Are- are they okay?” Tim cut in quickly, the urgency in his voice making Jason feel a little panicked, “They’re okay, right?”

Fuck. Why the fuck _else_ would parents totally forget about their kid? Damian exchanged a look with Jason, and apparently they were on all the same page.

But then Bruce said, very calmly, “Yes, they are perfectly fine. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh,” Tim said, echoing Jason’s thoughts, “Then what’s wrong?”

And based on the way Bruce’s face contorted, apparently it was _worse_ than ‘not okay.’ “It seems,” he said, deliberately, like he were trying to keep all emotion out of the statement, “they are on their way to Australia right now.”

Australia?

What did that even mean? How could people just… up and go to Australia?

That… that didn’t happen, right? Not without, like, telling people and warning their son, right?

Jason furrowed his brow, and looked over at Tim, hoping maybe the kid understood it a little more.

What he saw, though, wasn’t a pretty sight. Because Tim had turned sheet white, and maybe wasn’t even breathing? He looked very, unnaturally still.

“Like the continent?” Damian asked, obviously just as confused as Jason was.

When all Bruce did was nod at him, Damian said, “Why would-“ but got immediately cut off by a hard glare from Bruce.

Which was probably definitely good, because the last thing Tim needed was Damian being all Damian and asking a zillion questions. Damian pouted, but did shut up and started eating his dinner.

Did this count as child abandonment? There had been a kid in Jason’s first foster home whose mom had skipped town one day, and they called that _abandonment,_ which is how he ended up in that hellhole right alongside the rest of them.

“Oh,” Tim eventually said, sinking down into his chair.

Surely it’s not, though? Because they left him with like… staff, right? An Alfred? He called his Alfred Mrs… something.

Well, she probably wasn’t like _Alfred,_ who was basically their grandpa who pretended to be a butler, but whatever. She was still, like, taking care of him.

So yeah, not abandonment. Just… really shitty.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, “this was clearly a surprise to you.”

“They were supposed to be home until February…” Tim mumbled, and fuck. Jason kind of wanted to hug the kid. And he’s not even a hugger.

But like, shit.

“Peter said you had a nanny…” Bruce said, but he trailed off at the end, so it wasn’t _quite_ a question, but Tim clearly understood it as one.

Because he straightened up and furrowed his brow, then slowly shook his head. “No. Mom fired her last year because she kept spending the night at her boyfriend’s.”

“Did they replace her?” Bruce asked.

Tim shook his head, saying, “They just started paying Mrs. Mac more to cook for me and chauffeur me around.”

Why would they fire a nanny for not being around but then not hire a new one? That was dumb.

Bruce took another deep breath, then asked, “Who is Mrs. Mac, then?”

“The housekeeper.”

“Does she normally live with you?” Bruce asked, clearly getting angry again and trying very, very hard not to.

“No, she lives with her family.”

“Does anyone live with you when your parents are out of town?” Bruce asked tersely. For as hard as he was working, he was _failing_ at keeping his anger hidden.

Although Karen, his therapist, had told him he was better at recognizing anger than most people, so maybe he was just being sensitive.

But no, based on how Tim didn’t answer and just shrank down into his seat and tried to turtle into his school uniform shirt, it was obvious Tim had caught on. And Jason would bet his entire trust fund that Tim’s answer to that question was ‘no,’ too.

He couldn’t help it. “That’s fucked up, Tim,” he said, making Damian smirk a little from where he was trying to pretend to still be pouting about being not-told to shut up.

“ _Jason,”_ Bruce chastised, but Jason just shrugged and shoved a bite of carrot into his mouth.

“Sorry, Pops,” he said with his mouth full, something he _knew_ Alfred would fuss at him for if he weren’t obviously hiding in the kitchen just to listen in on them, “but ‘messed up’ doesn’t describe this situation well enough.”

It was one thing for _him_ to have been fending for himself as a kid. At Tim’s age. But he was _homeless._ And an _orphan._

Tim was a friggen billionaire, right? Millionaire? Probably millionaire. Most the kids at school were just millionaires, if that. It was funny, sometimes, to realize that Bruce, and therefore Jason, was richer than all of them. Than a lot of them combined. All the ones who liked to shove their money in people’s faces, Bruce could buy their dads ten times over. It was hilarious.

Regardless, Tim’s parents _were_ rich _._ They could afford to _take care of their fucking kid._

This wasn’t just… falling through the cracks. This was deliberate. This was… wrong. Bad. Very bad.

Bruce sighed and used both of his hands to rub at his face, placing his elbows on the table when he was done, so he could rest his head right in his hands. After staring at Tim for a good fifteen seconds, he finally said, “Okay. We will deal with this… in the morning. Tim, are you okay to spend the night here? We can run over to your house and get whatever you need, but either of the boys’ clothes should fit you fine.”

“…stay,” Tim mouthed, giving Bruce a blank look, before shaking his head and saying a little louder, “I can’t- I can’t stay _here.”_

“Why not?” Jason asked, actually curious about his reasoning. They weren’t gonna like, harvest his organs or nothing. Did rich people fear that? Probably not. They were scared of being held for ransom and shit.

They wouldn’t hold him for ransom, either.

Again. Bruce. Buying his dad ten times over. They definitely didn’t need the money.

“I- I,” Tim started, at first looking at Jason, then turning his attention to Bruce to continue stuttering, “ _You,_ you have…” but he trailed off. And just kept staring.

It was a little creepy.

Why the _fuck_ would Tim be terrified of spending the night?

“Tim, it’s absolutely no imposition. We have plenty of rooms and I would feel a lot better knowing you were somewhere safe tonight with people taking care of you.”

“I’m _really_ fine at home,” Tim tried, sounding a little desperate now, “I can take care of myself.”

Bruce looked stricken, but said very softly, “I’m sure you can, but you shouldn’t _have_ to.”

“Plus,” Damian said, perking up a little from his pout, “It can be like a sleepover. We can play video games all night.”

“You most certainly may not,” Bruce almost snapped, making Damian pout even _harder_ at Bruce.

Who knew it was possible.

Well, actually, Jason knew it was possible. Damian was very, very good at pouting. It almost never got him his way.

“ _Dad,”_ Damian whined, but Bruce cut him off with a hand up.

 _“_ Damian, I do not want to hear it.”

“Really,” Tim started, but Bruce cut him off, too.

“Tim, I’m sorry. I cannot let you spend the night alone.”

“But I do it all the time…” Tim said quietly, as he tried to become a turtle again.

Geez this kid.

“I know, son,” Bruce said softly. Gently. Just like he always did with Jason when he thought Jason was freaked out, “but that doesn’t make it okay. We have two options here; You can spend the night and we will figure everything else out in the morning when your parents can be reached, or I can call Social Services and they can find you a place tonight.”

Oh fuck.

It was abandonment, wasn’t it?

Like _hell_ would Jason let Bruce call social services on Tim and send him off to _foster care._

Before Jason could protest, though, Bruce caught his eye and gave him a _look._ One that said ‘just trust me and wait.’

Stupid bastard. Fine.

“…social services?” Tim whispered in a horrified little voice that definitely made him look very in-need-of-a-hug. Bruce could handle that. Or Damian. Damian was probably better.

“But- but my parents aren’t abusive. They have _never_ hit me,” he said, looking straight at Bruce now, “And, and I have enough food to eat. And I go to school. I’m fine. They take care of me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bruce said, “but it is illegal in the state of New Jersey to leave a child unsupervised for prolonged periods of time, Tim. That is the issue here.”

Yeah, so abandonment. Right?

“But… I can take care of myself…” Tim whispered. When Bruce just frowned at him, Tim sunk down a little more and started staring at his bowl of stew.

When that just stretched on for a full minute, Jason focused on finishing his own dinner, while Damian and Bruce did the same. All of them eating in silence.

Really, what the fuck do you talk about when a kid at the table just found out his parents legally abandoned him, or something? Jason wasn’t sure what the legal jargon would actually be. Could you temporarily abandon your child on accident?

Jason finished up his dinner, and looked back at Tim to see the kid just picking at his food. His bowl look like he’d taken maybe four bites total.

Someone had to cheer him up. Somehow…

“Hey,” he said, grinning a little. He’d love to get the Tim from Mario Kart back. He probably definitely wasn’t gonna get that, but it couldn’t hurt, right? “This means you’ll get to eat Alfred’s breakfast. You ever had french toast? Alfred’s is _amazing._ I bet if you asked, he’d totally make it for you.”

Tim looked up, but when all he did was continue to frown, his freaking _eyes_ managing to be even sadder looking than his face, Jason faltered a little.

“He can also make other stuff if you, I dunno, like omelettes better or something.”

Tim looked back down and shrugged, then said, “Anything’s fine.”

“Why don’t you finish your stew,” Bruce said, nudging Tim a little as he stood to clear his own dishes, “then we can go over to your house if you need anything.”

“You should get your Switch,” Damian said, but he withered under the glare Bruce shot him, and got up to take his dishes to the sink when Bruce pointed at them.

Jason took another dinner roll so Tim wouldn’t be left alone when Bruce followed Damian into the kitchen and started not-so-subtly whispering at him. Probably telling him to lay off Tim or something.

Poor kid. He just wanted to play with Tim.

Tim probably wouldn’t be in the mood to play for a while. If they ever saw him again after tomorrow.

They couldn’t fucking send him to foster care. Jason didn’t care how clean Batman made it. He didn’t fucking trust it.

“Mr- uh. Bruce?” Tim asked, when Bruce came back into the room several minutes later. He’d barely eaten three more bites. No wonder the kid was so damn skinny. If this was how he ate normally, he did _not_ get enough calories.

Alfred could totally fix that.

Bruce smiled, for the first time since dinner started, and said, “Yeah, bud?”

“Are you going to call social services tomorrow?”

“That,” Bruce said, then sighed, “That would not be my preference.”

“Then… what _is?”_ Tim asked.

Jason would like to know the same thing.

Because if they _didn’t_ call social services, what other options were there?

Keep Tim until his parents got back?

Not horrible, but how would, like, the whole Batman thing work? They couldn’t just _tell_ this random neighbor kid. Dick sometimes stayed over after patrol. Same with Barbara.

How would they explain _that?_ They could say she was Dick’s girlfriend. Heaven knew they were gross and flirted all the freaking time, but both would object to that term. Well, maybe not Dick. He totally had a huge gigantic crush on her and, according to Bruce, _had_ since he was like, ten.

Bruce wouldn’t be happy about them dating, though. Something about professional relationships and not mixing personal feelings. Or something.

Jason had barely listened to the lecture Bruce gave Dick, who totally ignored him, too, because _hello._ Bruce couldn’t say a damn word when he apparently got involved with one of his _villains._

Or, two, if Damian’s mom counted, too.

That was another thing Jason wasn’t supposed to know.

Bruce shouldn’t leave the Batcomputer so easy to access while he was out on patrol.

And, back to Tim, how would they explain Dick or Barbara showing up at 3 in the morning? Usually banged up, on the nights they decided to call the manor home?

Fuck. How were they going to explain _Bruce’s_ injuries.

“Jay,” Bruce said, making Jason jump a little, “Why don’t you clear your dishes and see what chores Alfred has for you.”

“You’re gonna make me do chores tonight?” Jason whined, trying not to be too annoyed at _clearly_ being hustled out of the room so Bruce could talk to Tim alone.

“You knew the rules when you decided to talk like you did.”

Alfred was such a _snitch._

“This is so lame,” he grumbled, but he got up without any further complaint.

Tim probably deserved privacy.

As he took his dishes to the sink, where Alfred told him loading the dishwasher was the first task he could do, Jason couldn’t help but wonder how weird the manor was going to be that night.

Would Bruce go out on patrol? How would they explain Bruce’s empty room, if Tim got up in the middle of the night?

Actually, that was a dumb question. Why would Tim go looking for Bruce in the middle of the night?

If they did keep Tim for the week or two his parents were out of town, surely Bruce would figure it out. He was Batman, right?

Batman would figure it out.

Maybe, in the meantime, they _could_ convince Bruce to let them have a video game night.

It’s not like Tim was getting any sleep, anyway. The least they could do was distract him, right?

That’s what Jason would want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST finished this, so I haven't proofed it yet. I will read it back through probably in the morning, so just ignore any mistakes? Hopefully they aren't awful. 😂
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has commented or left kudos or even just read! A couple people read through the entire series this week and left tons of comments and, let me just say, y'all are keeping me going during this isolation. Sorry I don't respond very often, I always freeze up when trying to figure out what to say, but I promise I read the comments and love and cherish them. ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> I'm loving writing this so much, y'all. I can't wait for like, this entire series to be completely written so I can read through it. 😂 It's a little crazy to realize I've been working on this for over a year now. And even more staggering to realize it'll probably be that much longer or more. I have so much planned. I've basically rewritten Batman canon. 😬 I like my version better. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter next Sunday! (-ish, that usually means about Saturday or Sunday for anyone newly following! :D)


	4. Bruce

Bruce wasn’t sure what to do about this whole Tim-Drake-thing. 

Every moment he spent with the kid, every new thing he learned, was just giving him a headache. 

In reality, it was Jack and Janet _Drake_ giving him the headache. 

Honestly. 

He had half a mind to hack into their flight’s computer system and force a phone call with them right that very second. 

But secret identities and all that nonsense. 

It would probably be better for everyone involved, Tim included, if Bruce waited until morning to start making decisions. He was a little hot, at the moment. And making decisions while pissed off never went over well. 

Tim hadn’t needed anything from his house, despite Bruce assuring him several times it was okay if they needed to go retrieve something. A blanket. Anything. 

Damian was two years younger than him, yes, but he still slept with a stuffed animal, and Bruce recalled Dick having similar toys at Tim’s age. Bruce was fairly certain the only reason Jason had nothing like that was because his backpack, and therefore all his worldly possessions, got stolen from him when he was eleven. If he’d had any sentimental objects, well…

That had not been an easy thing to hear his then twelve-year-old son tell him. 

So it wasn’t outlandish of him to assume a ten-year-old would have _something_ special to him he’d feel more secure with rather than without. 

But Tim hadn’t needed anything. In fact, he claimed he didn’t need anything _at all_. Period. Every time he or Alfred asked if Tim wanted this or that, his response was always, ‘I’m fine, really.’ 

As if he thought simply existing in Wayne Manor was an inconvenience on everyone and everything. Like simply needing a toothbrush would be pushing it too far.

Bruce had to try his best not to sigh in frustration.

Alfred, on the other hand, _had_ sighed, and collected up the various toiletries and clothing items Tim would need to spend the night, anyway, despite the child’s protests. 

They were fortunate that Tim was about the size of Damian. A little on the slimmer side and a tad shorter, but close enough that the boys could easily exchange clothing so they didn’t have to press the issue and make Tim ‘waste’ their time. 

Bruce… Bruce had retreated to his study, at that point, to read the evening news and try to stop thinking about the far too timid child getting settled upstairs. 

He hadn’t succeeded in that last endeavor. Because hours later, long after Tim had gone to bed without fuss or even being asked, Bruce was still mulling over the mere idea a person could possibly think it okay to leave a ten-year-old child alone.

 _One_ person thinking that was one thing, but here were two people. Two _parents_ flat out leaving their child to fend for himself. Find a ride home from school _himself._ Figure out dinner and bedtime and a ride to school next week, _by himself._

At ten. Years. Old. 

Bruce hadn’t _needed_ to be a father to know that was a terrible thing to do. Now that he _was_ a father, he couldn’t fathom. Couldn’t even imagine possibly thinking about leaving his kids by themselves. 

Hell, he didn’t like Dick living alone, and he was _eighteen._ And employed full time, perfectly capable of supporting himself. 

Bruce still hated it.

Tim Drake had barely been a blip on his radar until that evening. He was the neighbor kid he’d met a couple times. That’s it. 

Now Bruce was warming up his favorite punching bag in the cave because of this kid. 

Because of this kid and the reality that, in the morning, unless the Drakes gave him a very, very, _very_ good reason Tim was left alone in the cold, he was going to have to report this to the authorities. And Tim Drake would likely enter the system.

A rich kid, thrown straight into foster care, he thought, tightening his fist before hitting the bag again.

He was a fucking mandatory reporter. He _had_ to report this.

For as much as the system had improved in the last year and a half, it still had its issues.

 _Gotham,_ still had it’s issues. And throwing a kid like Tim straight into its bowels was not something Bruce wanted to do. 

But he wasn’t seeing many other options. 

“Shit,” he mumbled, as his hand slipped in a punch and his finger knuckle took a rather hard hit. Jason and his language was really rubbing off on him he thought, as he shook it off and refisted his hand. 

He wouldn’t be _against_ Tim staying with them, of course. He didn’t know Tim very well, but he seemed pleasant enough. Damian certainly seemed to like him. But Bruce understood the optics of him offering to take care of Tim. 

If _he_ were the Drakes, though, he would be extremely concerned about a random neighbor, no matter how ‘friendly’ of terms they were on, offering out of the blue to take care of one of his sons for a while. Especially a single male one who’d had so many _horrible_ articles written about him and his ‘real’ motives for adopting Dick and Jason. 

No amount of libel lawsuits forcing retractions, which were always printed on the last page of publications in tiny print, ever truly banished those thoughts from peoples’ minds. 

The punching bag kicked back so hard after that punch, it hit him in the shin. 

“Hey Bruce,” Jason said, startling Bruce a little as he skipped into the training area. 

Since turning thirteen he’d made it his life goal to appear in the cave randomly, whenever he wanted, simply because he _could_. 

At least, that’s how it seemed to Bruce. 

Curse him and his ‘must be thirteen’ rule. 

Should have made it thirty. 

“Jay,” he said, not turning around for Jason to see him. If he kept facing the bag, he could keep hitting it until he stopped being pissed about Jack and Janet Fucking Drake.

“Are you going out tonight?” Jason asked, climbing up onto the parallel bars to sit on them. Bruce could just see him out of his peripheral. _How_ the kids found comfortable positions sitting on those things, he still didn’t know. 

“That was the plan.” 

Jason hummed at him, then flipped himself upside down on the bar, seemingly uncaring about how aggressively Bruce was still hitting the bag, and asked, “Even with the kid here?”

He’d given very little thought to that concern. There was almost no chance Tim would possibly notice him missing for most the night. “I have a feeling he won’t come out of his room until Alfred drags him out for breakfast.”

Not even Jason had been as nervous as Tim, at the beginning. And Jason had been convinced they were going to murder him in his sleep. 

Or worse. 

Maybe that’s what Tim’s problem was… 

_He_ read tabloids and was freaking out about _that._

Shit.

Bruce stopped training and stilled the punching bag, taking deep breath as he did. 

Maybe he should have let Alfred insist Tim stay the night… Or Jason. So that _he_ hadn’t been the one to force Tim to stay over. 

Even more reason for Bruce to not be around most the night, he supposed.

Let him have a nice peaceful night without any interaction from Bruce until he came down for breakfast. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Jason asked, still swinging upside down on the bars he’d been playing on. 

“He’s just had a rough day,” Bruce said. Because, in reality, he didn’t _know_ what was wrong. He had suspicions, but he didn’t definitively _know_ after just a couple hours of interacting with the kid.

“Yeah, but no,” Jason said, “Like, why’s he like _that.”_

Sighing, Bruce ran a hand over his face, then finally turned to face Jason fully. “I don’t know. A lot of things can cause such severe anxiety, so I cannot even begin to speculate without knowing him.” 

Severe emotional and physical neglect was at the top of Bruce’s list of suspicions, though. That, and the whole, thinking Bruce was going to hurt him, thing. 

Fuck.

He should have noticed how much _he_ specifically freaked Tim out. 

Jason flipped himself upright and frowned, “But it doesn’t help being ditched by his folks. Right?”

“Probably not,” he sighed, walking over to wrap an arm around Jason, squeezing until Jason smiled up at him, “But you know what you can do to help?”

“What?”

“Be his friend.” At the moment, that was likely all the boys _could_ do. And so far they’d been doing an excellent job at it.

“Sure,” Jason agreed, hopping off the bars when Bruce let go of him, “but I think the brat beat me to it.”

“You can both be his friend,” Bruce said, ready to get dressed for patrol. It was about that time. “Are you going to bed?”

“Nah,” Jason said as he followed Bruce out of the training area, but detoured over to the computer when Bruce kept heading for the changing room, “I want to stay on the comms.” 

Bruce just sighed as he went to get dressed. 

Jason had been running the comms more often, lately, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. It had started as something he only did after nightmares. Instead of find someplace to hide in the manor to distract himself, he’d taken to sitting in the cave, chatting with Bruce or Dick, or sometimes even Barbara. Whoever wasn’t too busy to keep up random chit chat. 

He’d been _fine_ with that, mostly because their conversation was _never_ about what was going on out in the streets. Jason would talk about current events, books he was reading, or even share stories from school and listen to whatever story they had to tell in response. 

Honestly, Bruce had come to enjoy those nights. They were good distractions from some of the rougher parts of the job. Even if he knew they only came about because Jason had a bad night…

Bruce sighed as he snapped his belt around his waist, then started going through the compartments, running a quick inventory.

Lately, Jase had been spending a night or two a week on comms, until Bruce told him to go to bed somewhere around midnight. And instead of just chatting with them, he’d been listening in on the police scanner, learning how to make reports to authorities and take notes for them, and basically just coordinating everything. Things Alfred usually did, when he was available. 

It was all _helpful,_ but Bruce hated that it was happening. He just really hoped it _stopped_ with comms. Because he didn’t want Jason out on the street. He might not have a leg to stand on in an attempt to stop that. 

Thirteen was his rule, and he let Dick go out. Let Dick out at nine, as Damian kept helpfully reminding him. He’d been touting the ‘thirteen’ rule for _years,_ and Jason had been thirteen for five months. _And he let Dick go out._

Bruce didn’t want any more of his children out there. 

“Police reporting a string of break ins along 40th,” Jason shouted, as Bruce finished pulling up his cowl and was about ready to go, “Batgirl isn’t out tonight and Nightwing is busy on a stakeout.” 

“Okay,” he said, tapping his comm to make sure it worked first, then speeding toward the Batmobile, “Thanks, Jay. Be careful. Find Alfred if it’s too much.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason exasperated. He had yet to ‘find Alfred’ when things got too intense, because despite how brave he acted, Bruce knew how difficult it was for him to witness violent crime. 

At least Bruce had locked the cowl cam so Jason could not access it. 

The night went smoothly, all things relative. The string of burglaries had led him on a chase for about an hour, before he finally cornered the thugs trying to rip off a jewelry store on 73rd street. 

It’d been quick work, tying them up and waiting for the police to arrive. Jason had already called it in, before Bruce even finished zip tying the last thug up. 

“Maybe next time they’ll learn to be less conspicuous,” Jason was chattering, as Bruce stood up on a roof, looking down at the line of police cars that had showed to cart off the seven thugs. 

“What kind of morons go robbing in such a large group _and_ so many places? All good thieves know it’s all about stealth.”

“All good thieves, huh?” Bruce said, smirking a little. Somehow, the GCPD thought they needed _more_ police, because Bruce watched as four more cop cars showed up.

Sure, it was a slow night, but these cops could be better used patrolling. The eight patrol vehicles already there was plenty.

“Hey, I only got caught _once,”_ Jason said, and Bruce could just hear the shit eating grin in his voice, _“_ and if you think about it, I was the winner even _then_ cause now I got a trust fund.” 

“That-“ Bruce started, just to jump back when a knife went sailing past his face, the whizzing sound just centimeters from his ear as he turned his head. 

Two more knives followed in quick succession, and while dodging one, the other got him quite well in the arm, somehow managing to cut right through his suit and get the skin.

“Shit,” he hissed, ducking down and beneath the cover of the roof’s perimeter. His arm stung, but the knife had just grazed him. It was likely a nasty cut, at worst. _Maybe_ stitches, but probably not. 

At any rate, it was the least of his worries. Pulling out a couple batarangs, he poked his head up, trying to find the source of the attack. It’d been from across the street, he could tell that much. Across the street and up. 

“Language” Jason exclaimed, but when Bruce didn’t say anything more, he added a little more seriously, “What’s wrong?”

Another knife twanged when it hit the metal roof behind him, so Bruce used his cape to deflect should any more be thrown at him, and started running for the next roof over, which belonged to a much taller building. If he could get up higher, maybe he could get a good look at who his assailant was. 

“Batman?” Jason said, the anxiety bleeding into his voice, “Oh sh- crap. Dickwing, Batman probably needs backup. He cussed.”

As far as he could tell, no knives came at him, when he grappled up to the next building. Flipping his cowl to heat vision, he started inspecting the roofs across the street, and tried to pinpoint his assailant. 

“B?” Nightwing, now, said into his comm, “What’s going on? Where are you?”

Before he could answer either of the boys, though, the person threw another knife at him. This time, he saw it be thrown, because he’d found them, hiding behind an air-conditioning unit. 

Throwing his own hand of batarangs, Bruce ran forward, then leapt out into the air, pulling his grapple only after he’d thrown all three batarangs. It usually bought him enough time to make leaps without having to worry about being hit while in the air, and, thankfully, this time was no different.

“Jaybird,” Nightwing said, sound a little more worked up than before, “Where is he?”

“That’s _not_ my codename!” Jason snapped, then added, “74th and Lexington.”

The assailant started running as Bruce landed on the roof next to their’s, and he couldn’t tell how far off they actually were. They should be only about 40 yards ahead of him, but if they were, they were _tiny._

“You don’t get to choose your own codename,” Dick shot back. 

“Speedy doesn’t get to pick it either!,” Jason outright _screeched,_ and with that finding the end of Bruce’s patience.

“Boys,” he snapped, running as quickly as he could, in an attempt to catch up. But this person was _fast._ They’d managed to gain 5 more yards in the time it took Bruce to leap from one roof to the next, as they continued racing down the road. 

“Batman,” Nightwing exclaimed, “What’s happening? I’ll be there in two.” 

The assailant made a sudden left turn, headed toward the alley between 73rd and 74th, and leapt off the side of the building. Even running as fast as he could, he was only able to get there two full seconds after they’d jumped, and by then they were _gone._

There wasn’t a sign of them anywhere. No dumpsters to hide in. No windows on this side of the building. _Nothing._

“Jaybird,” he said into his comm, walking around the perimeter of the roof, trying to see if the assailant was hiding somewhere nearby. Everywhere he looked, there was _nothing_ that could hide a person. It made no sense. 

Was this a meta? Could they vanish? Teleport?

Jason groaned, loudly and dramatically, but then said, “What?”

“I need you to pull the camera feeds for 74th and Pine. Tell me if you can get a visual of the roof of the building on the northeast corner.”

“Umm,” Jason said, and Bruce just pinched his nose. This was something they’d taught him, right?

“Do you know how to do that?” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, almost like he was _annoyed_ with the question, “Just hang on. I’m looking.”

“What happened,” Nightwing said again, as he landed next to Batman on the roof, looking around and not right at Bruce, yet. 

“Assailant throwing knives,” he said, turning around to go retrieve one or all of the knives, “Got away. Leapt off over there and disappeared.” 

Bruce leapt back across the street, and Nightwing followed closely behind, both of them using their grapples in tandem. 

_“_ One got you?” Nightwing asked, a touch of shock in his voice when he caught sight of Bruce’s arm midair, and Bruce wanted to sigh. Very loudly.

Because, just as Bruce anticipated, Jason sounded audibly panicked when he said, “You got stabbed?”

 _“_ No,” Bruce reassured as he landed, before muting his comm and whispering at Dick, “Can you _not_ freak him out, please?” He had half a mind to ban Jason from running the comms all together. 

Nightwing mouthed ‘sorry’ at him, so he switched to comm back on and said, “It’s just a knick. I can hardly feel it.” 

“Nightwing?” Jason asked, still far more anxiously than Bruce wanted to hear. 

He probably should ban Jason from the comms.

“It’s more like a cut, but it’s nothing serious,” Nightwing confirmed, but he pulled out his first aid kit and grabbed Bruce’s arm, just as he was collecting up one of the knives, “but I’m wrapping it, okay?”

“Fine,” Bruce said, mostly for Jason’s benefit. At least he had one of the knives he could look at.

“Good,” Jason said, still sounding upset, but a little calmer, “Good.”

“How are those camera feeds coming?” he asked, while Dick wiped the cut down and pulled out his bandages. 

There’s something familiar about the hilt design on the knife, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on _what._ Ivory hilts weren’t completely uncommon, but _this_ one’s hilt was striking.

He’d seen probably thousands of knives in his life. Tens of thousands. But _this_ knife? He’s almost certain he’s seen it before. It came from a nice set, too. Elegant. Expensive. 

“Okay, all better,” Dick said, patting Bruce’s arm once he’d finished wrapping it. Even though he couldn’t see it, Dick must have known he’d rolled his eyes, because he grinned wide in response.

“Check that roof over there for the rest of the knives,” Bruce said, pointing to the last roof where he’d been on this side of the road. He wasn’t sure _if_ any knives had hit that roof, but he wanted _all_ the knives. The first roof was where Bruce headed, in search of the first four knives. 

“Sorry, Batman,” Jason said, as Bruce was scouring the roof for the last of the four knives. The first three were painfully easy to spot against the lightly colored roof. “There are no cameras on that roof. Can I look somewhere else?”

Finally, he found the last knife, and just stopped to stare at it. It had the same intricate engraving on the hilt as the others. Beautiful, but slightly imperfect, as it was done by hand. 

This was a _very_ nice set of knives. Tossing them like this, haphazardly and liberally, just to ditch them, was a waste. Even he was going to collect back up his batarangs, before he left the scene. 

Maybe if he left the one knife there, and set up a camera, he’d catch the person come back and collect it. 

“That’s okay,” he told Jason, while fishing a surveillance camera out of his belt. One small enough he’d be able to hide it in the grate of the air conditioning unit nearby, “Why don’t you go on to bed?” 

And if this _didn’t_ work, he could search the cameras later that night and try to catch the person jumping off the side of the building. Get a good look at them and figure out where they went. 

If they _were_ dealing with a meta, Bruce wanted to know about it. And if they _weren’t,_ he wanted to know how on earth they’d escaped so quickly. 

Jason hesitated for a moment, but then finally said, “But you’re okay, right?”

“Yes, lad,” he said as softly as he could, so no one could hear him drop out of most of his gravel. Not that anyone was anywhere around him. “I promise I’m fine.” 

“Okay, I guess,” Jason said slowly, clearly reluctant to go on to bed after such excitement.

“I’ll come check on you when I get home,” he promised, slipping the rest of the knives into his belt, so he could grapple again to grab his batarangs, “Good night.” 

“Night.” 

In fact, he would probably go ahead and head back to the cave, after that. He had a lot of research to do, _and_ he knew he needed to be well rested for tomorrow. 

Tim Drake was still an issue that would require a lot of his attention in the morning. So he might as well use some of his patrol hours to get working on the origin of the knives. 

Especially since he’d realized _what_ was so familiar about the knives. 

And being reminded of Talia al Ghul during any of his cases always put him a little on edge. Even if this particular case didn’t seem like her style. 

At all.

It could be just a coincidence, but _true_ coincidences were rare. 

If this had anything to do with her, Bruce needed to get to the bottom of it, and quickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this is. I had a Bad Weekend. This lockdown is really getting to me. I changed up my schedule starting Monday, and now I'm being strict about following a routine, so hopefully it doesn't happen again. (Although I totally broke it tonight to get this written. Oops 😬 But I have a morning teleconference tomorrow so I'll have to get up at 8 so it's okay, it won't ruin tomorrow's schedule) 
> 
> This might make the Jason and the Three Terrors chapter late this week, but I plan on being back on schedule by Sunday for this fic again. :) Just bear with me, if not. I'm trying.
> 
> In the meantime, I did manage to post a new fic on Friday? Saturday?? I don't know. That's how the weekend was. I actually really love it, and I think its my favorite one-shot I've ever written sooooooooo. Check it out if you want a taste of baby Damian with good-mom Talia. Like 100% polar opposite of the Talia in this fic. LOL :D
> 
> And thanks for reading and being patient! Love you guys and the super nice comments you leave. ❤️❤️❤️


	5. Tim

When Tim woke, it was slowly.

There was no reason to jolt awake. No reason to wake at all, really. It was Saturday, and that meant no housekeeper was coming. No breakfast being made for him. No school to get ready for. He could get up whenever he wanted and eat whatever. Probably cereal. He liked cereal. 

Tim rolled over, enjoying the warmth of the blankets he was cocooned in. Getting up would mean stepping into the icy world around him. Even with the heat turned up to an appropriate level, according to his parents, the house just always felt cold in the winter. Tim liked his blankets. 

Taking a deep breath, Tim noticed the faint smell of… something. Something warm and fresh and, and cinnamon-y. Like French Toast, almost. Why would he-

OH.

His parents were home! They were home for several more weekends, maybe his mom was making-

Just as quickly as he’d opened them, Tim shut his eyes again. Very tightly. 

Because… because

This was not his room. It wasn’t his room. It wasn’t even his _house._ And-and-

Only then did it all come back to him. The previous 24 hours. _Why_ he was in some strange room in a strange house. It came in a rush, only slightly calming his racing heart. 

His parents had gone to _Australia._ Without telling him. They weren’t supposed to leave for Australia until February. That was right, wasn’t it? He had the date on his calendar. February 13th. It was no where near February 13th, and yet his parents had gone to Australia already. Without warning him. 

They hadn’t warned him, had they? Tim didn’t remember Dad saying anything about it on the drive to school. Usually Dad tells him stuff like that in the car. Says good-bye when dropping him off.

Well, they didn’t always say good-bye. But usually he knew so he could call a cab to get home. Or Mrs. Mac would pick him up.

But this time, they hadn’t told him, and he didn’t know he was supposed to call a cab. 

Were they still on the same schedule for coming back? He- he really hoped not. 

He was supposed to get a whole month more with them. An _entire month._ Just him and Mom and Dad. He didn’t want to wait until May to see them again.

They were supposed to be home _now_ and this was _not fair._

“Pull yourself together,” he whispered, using the blanket to scrub at his eyes. There was no reason to _cry_ over this. 

Stupid. 

Mom and Dad had _jobs_ and they couldn’t lounge around at home whenever they wanted. They had probably wanted to stay with Tim, but had to go to Australia early. There was a dig or something there, he couldn’t remember. They’d told him what they were _going_ to do in Australia, but he hadn’t been paying attention. Tuning them out while they talked about work was almost second nature to him. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t like that, but their work was just so _boring._

But that didn’t matter. It was _work_ and Tim had to suck it up and deal with it. Otherwise how would they pay the bills? 

Something _loud_ clattered to the ground, somewhere right outside the room Tim was in. If that hadn’t been enough to make Tim startle, the immediate shout of “Damian” that came right after it, was. 

He’d kind of forgotten… there were people in this house. 

_The Waynes._

“What,” Damian shouted back, sounding incredibly annoyed Jason was yelling at him. 

Tim pulled the covers up over his head. 

This was bad. 

Everything Mr. Wayne had told him the night before was now swirling around the front of his mind, and it was very, _very_ bad. 

“Why’s all your shit in the hall,” Jason shouted back at Damian, as more loud noises happened outside the door. It sounded like Jason was kicking something, and that just made Damian shriek at him. 

No matter how deep under the covers Tim got, he couldn’t block out the sounds, because Damian and Jason started bickering more, and it was getting louder and closer to the door. 

Mom and Dad were not going to be happy he stayed the night at someone else’s house to begin with. But Mr. Wayne wasn’t going to let him go home at all. They were going to be so upset about _that._ He was supposed to stay at home. That was the rule. Stay home. 

He…. might not always follow that rule. But he was allowed to leave the house for extracurriculars, and photography _was_ an extracurricular, so it wasn’t technically breaking their rules. And what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. 

But, they were _definitely_ going to know about this. And Mr. Wayne thought what they were doing was _illegal,_ at that. _And wanted to call the police._

How it was illegal, Tim still didn’t understand. He was well taken care of. He had plenty of food and went to school and _everything._ And he’d never gotten hurt when Mom and Dad were away. He was very careful! 

When something thumped up against the wall to his room, Tim jumped so hard it felt like his heart was going to stop. 

What were they _doing?_

Curiosity almost got the better of him, but then he heard another voice. _Batman_ snap “Boys,” and he hid back under his covers. 

He’d rather not be out there for that. 

“Damian put his stupid race track outside my room and I tripped over it,” Jason started, just to have Damian start yelling over him. 

“You should watch where you’re walking! It’s not my fault you’re an idiot and-”

Both Jason and Damian shut up at the same time, and Tim could only imagine the look Batman was giving them. 

He wanted to go home. 

Mr. Wayne’s voice started up again, but this time far too quiet for him to make out any individual words. The notes of his rich baritone making it through the walls, but nothing else. 

Maybe he could sneak out the window? Go home and pretend none of this had ever happened. 

If only. 

There was _no way_ he’d be able to convince _Batman_ that his parents never left the country at all and he was completely fine and being watched 24/7. 

But….

Maybe. If he got ahold of Mom or Dad right that moment, he could tell them what Mr. Wayne thought and maybe they could hire a nanny or something. That way, when he called _later_ Mom and Dad could be like ‘we hired a nanny, did she not show up? Oh that’s terrible!’ and everything would be okay. 

Mr. Wayne wouldn’t call the police and Tim could go home. 

He’d also have a nanny, which wasn’t terrible. Sometimes his nannies were annoying, but as long as she went to bed at a normal time and didn’t bother him all night, he probably wouldn’t even have to change up any of his habits. 

Then he’d have someone to watch movies and play games with, too. That could be fun. 

Outside the room, Tim could hear more clattering. This time it sounded like whatever it was of Damian’s being picked up. Mr. Wayne was still out there, talking, but now Jason and Damian were responding, at much quieter levels. 

Considering how easily he could hear _them,_ if Tim just straight up called Mom right there, they’d be able to hear him and possibly even hear what he was saying. 

It wouldn’t _work_ if Mr. Wayne heard. 

Looking around the room, Tim considered hiding in the closet. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain that if Mr. Wayne came in and found him in there. Maybe he could hide in the bathroom. 

Duh.

The room _had_ a bathroom. 

Which was kind of awesome and Tim wished _his_ bedroom had a bathroom in it, but that was irrelevant. _This_ room had one, and he could totally go hide in there, turn on the water, and talk to Mom. Everyone would think he was taking a shower and all would be grand. 

At the last second, Tim grabbed the clothes Alfred had given him the night before. They were apparently Damian’s, or something. Damian was bigger than him, so he wasn’t sure if they’d fit, but whatever. He could always put his school uniform back on if they didn’t fit. It was only for a little while longer. Soon enough, he’d have this all sorted out and he’d be back at home. 

Tim took a second to use the restroom and brush his teeth, just to get the morning taste out of his mouth. He knew his mom wouldn’t be able to tell over the phone, but it felt weird to talk to anyone before brushing his teeth. 

Straining his ears one last time, he tried to hear the Waynes outside, but their voices were either silent now, or were so muffled he couldn’t hear anymore.

Good. That was good. 

When he turned the water on, it became pretty much impossible to hear anything but the spray of the shower-head against the porcelain tub. 

Perfect.

Tim climbed up on the counter and sat there, criss cross, as he took a deep breath and steadied himself. He’d have to speak clearly and succinctly if he wanted to get Mom to do his plan. If he mumbled or stuttered she’d ignore him. Should be easy. 

As long as _Mom_ answered, and not Dad. 

Dad was harder to talk to, sometimes. He interrupted too much. 

But it was fine. He was calling Mom’s cell phone. Dad probably wouldn’t be the one to answer. Even _if_ he saw it was Tim calling, he probably would ignore Mom’s phone. 

Tapping ‘call,’ Tim leaned back against the mirror behind him and counted the rings. 

One. 

Good. She didn’t have the phone off anymore. 

Two. 

She’d probably noticed the phone, now, and was about to answer. Tim was _sure._

Three.

What time was it in Australia? Looking back at his phone screen, he saw it was 8:30 his time. If Australia was 14 hours ahead of him? 15? 

Four.

Which time zone were they even in? He couldn’t remember _where_ in Australia they said they were going. It was around 10pm, at least. They should be _awake._

Five.

…why wasn’t she answering? 

Tim jabbed at the ‘end call’ button before the voicemail message could start. Maybe she hadn’t heard the phone. 

Surely. 

Mom wouldn’t ignore his calls… usually. Only when she was working, but it was _Saturday._ They never worked on _Saturdays._ Or Sundays, for that matter. Why had they left in the middle of the day on Friday? Couldn’t it have waited until Monday?

Tim tried Mom one more time, hoping this time she’d answer. Maybe she’d barely missed the call, and she would actually answer this time.

But, of course not. Tim never got what he wanted. 

He’d have to call Dad, now. He’d have to call Dad and try to explain to Dad what he had to do. 

Holding his breath, Tim hit call on Dad’s contact. 

Dad was _never_ going to listen to him. Tim would tell him “Dad Mr. Wayne says it’s illegal for me to not have a nanny and-“ and Dad would cut him off and go off about how who cared what Bruce Wayne thought and why would Tim care what Bruce Wayne thought? Why was he even _talking_ to Bruce Wayne, didn’t he tell Tim to leave the neighbors alone? 

It was almost a relief when Dad didn’t answer.

_Almost._

Because if he couldn’t call and warn his parents, that meant Mr. Wayne was going to call the cops and there was nothing he could do about this. 

Texting them would be evidence, he already knew. So he couldn’t just text mom the issue. Batman could probably hack their phones and read all their texts, if he really wanted. He had to _talk_ to them. 

Mom and Dad couldn’t go to jail. 

They hadn’t done anything wrong. 

And if they went to jail, where would Tim go? Foster care? He didn’t want to go to foster care! They might move him out of Gotham. He couldn’t leave Gotham. 

He didn’t care what Mr. Wayne said. He _had_ ‘care and attention.’ He didn’t _need_ someone hovering over him all day every day. He was _fine._

This entire thing wasn’t _fair._

Tim tried calling his mom three more times, but on the third try, her phone sent him straight to voicemail. And he didn’t know why, but that really annoyed him. He _shouldn’t_ be annoyed, because _he_ was the one being annoying, but he really, really, _really_ had to talk to her. 

But his text of “Mom please it’s really important” got ignored, and Tim found himself sitting on the counter, hugging his knees, barely resisting the urge to throw his phone across the room. 

This wasn’t _fair._

 _‘Life’s not fair, Timbo,’_ his dad always said, but that didn’t matter! This was something they could control!

When Tim sniffed, he realized he should get himself back under control. Mom obviously was too busy to talk to him, and no matter how mad he got about it, that wasn’t going to change.

And now, he’d wasted ten minutes in the bathroom with the water running, and if he didn’t take a shower super quick, Mr. Wayne would be suspicious. He didn’t doubt they’d all noticed he was ‘taking a shower.’

Maybe Mom would text him back by the time he was done and they could resolve this. 

Tim took three minutes, tops, showering off and getting dressed. It was hardly enough time for Mom to finish whatever she was doing, but a thrill of relief washed through him when he saw his phone light up on the counter, where he’d left it, accompanied by the double buzz of a text notification. 

He nearly threw the phone at the wall, snatching it up as quickly as he did. 

_‘Hey Tim,’_ the text read, and already Tim was incredibly confused because why would his mom… 

Looking at the source of the text, Tim felt his heart drop. Because he didn’t have the number saved in his phone. It _wasn’t_ his mom. 

‘ _Bruce says to come down for breakfast when you’re done with your shower. We’re having that french toast I told you about. -Jay’_

Oh. 

Tim shot back an ‘okay I’ll be down in a minute’ as he hung his towel back up and made sure everything was nice and tidy. He didn’t want to leave a mess for Alfred to clean up. For one, it was rude. And two, he knew Mrs. Mac always got mad at him when he left messes that were easy to not make in the first place. 

As he found his way downstairs and to the dining room, all he could think about was ‘how did Jason get his number?’

Then again. He was Batman’s son. He probably hacked it, or something. 

And now… now _he_ had _Jason’s_ number. 

That thought almost made him smile. It was almost like they were friends. 

Well, they weren’t obviously, because he was pretty sure Jason and Damian were only being nice to him because they had to be, but it was nice to pretend. If only for a little while. 

“Good morning, Master Timothy,” Mr. Pennyworth said, as Tim was just about to reach the dining room. Tim startled, then looked through the door to the kitchen and tried to smile. 

It wasn’t _super_ hard, since he was still a little excited about the whole being-in-Wayne-Manor thing. 

“Oh. You can just call me ‘Tim,’ Mr. Pennyworth,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. 

“Only if you call me Alfred, young sir,” Alfred said, 

Now Tim _did_ smile, for real, as he said, “Deal.” He forgot both Alfred _and_ Mr. W- Bruce. Bruce had said that yesterday.

Which was weird. He wasn’t used to adults not wanting to be called Mister. 

“I do hope you slept well last night, despite the ruckus the boys made this morning.” 

He had slept well, actually. All things considered. It had taken him literal _hours_ to fall asleep, but once he had, it had been a sound sleep. 

“I did, thanks.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say about Jason and Damian’s fight, but he’d already been awake then, so that was okay, too. 

Besides. It was their house. They were allowed to fight in their own house, right? Isn’t that what siblings did? There was a set of twins in his grade at school, and they were constantly bickering. And he heard other kids complain about their older or younger siblings, so he figured it was pretty normal. 

Tim kind of wished he had a brother or sister to argue with. It would be fun, probably. 

But if Mom and Dad went to jail and Tim got sent to foster care, he’d never get a little brother or sister.

Although… he’d probably have _foster_ siblings. 

For some reason, he wasn’t sure that would be a good thing. What if they were all mean? They’d have no reason to love him, like real siblings would. Damian and Jason _had_ to love each other because they were real brothers, but _foster_ brothers were different. Right?

Tim didn’t want a foster family at all. He liked the one he had. 

Even if he only got to see them sometimes.

And they went to Australia without telling him. 

_Surely_ he’d just missed their message. Or forgot. It was very easy he forgot that they told him. Maybe he had _heard_ February 13th but really they had said January 10th. That was possible, too.

“Good,” Alfred said, making Tim jump a little. See. He needed to pay better attention when people were talking to him. He probably definitely forgot. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

At his jump, Alfred looked at him for a long second, almost scrutinizing him. Had he noticed Tim tuned out? He hadn’t said anything Tim missed, did he? There wasn’t a weird gap in the conversation, so probably not, right?

“I hope you know we are quite happy to have you here,” Alfred said slowly, his warm smile making Tim’s chest flutter a little. Like he had butterflies in there. Why was Alfred so good at making him all nervous? “We are all quite fond of you already, and you are more than welcome back anytime, no questions asked.” 

“Oh,” he said, wondering what on earth that meant. How could they all be ‘fond’ of him? They didn’t even _know_ him. He had only played video games with Damian and Jason for, like, an hour. He’d spent the rest of the evening in the guest room, after dinner, so they barely knew him. 

Was this just something people said to be nice?

“I am quite serious, Master Tim,” Alfred said, as he stepped closer and set his hand on Tim’s back, “Now why don’t you join the rest of the family in the dining room. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

“Oh,” he said again, trying his best to figure out what to say, “Uh, thanks, Alfred.” 

As Tim pushed through the swing door into the dining room, all he could wonder about was what on _earth_ that meant. 

But when everyone in the room looked up and smiled at him, from Bruce to Damian to Jason, he thought he maybe was starting to get it.

Maybe not _understand_ it, but he got it. 

What was _happening_ to his life??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I headcanon that Tim's self confidence slowly builds from the time he figures out Dick was Nightwing/Robin to when he confronts Bruce after Jason's death, in canon. Since he was ~12 when that happens, he's still got two more years of self-confidence building to go from this point where I've plucked him from his story and put him in mine. He got that self-confidence through his nighttime adventures, through learning and figuring out more things on his own (and realizing how smart he was), and from his martial arts lessons. And, I think Tim's just one of those people who might be freaking out on the inside, but is able to pull it together just enough to get something that NEEDS to get done finished, for instance, telling Bruce he's going to get himself killed and the solution is he needs a Robin. The drive of doing what has to get done helps him push through the anxiety. I hope I kind of portray that part of his character in my writing. 🤷🏼
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all! I went with a much looser 'outline' this time around, since my outline changed so many times with Precedent. I'm actually enjoying writing it this way. It means the fic is gonna be stupid long, I can just tell, but whatever. That just means more content. :) Let me know what you thought! I always love comments. ❤️❤️❤️


	6. Bruce

Bruce was running off about two hours of sleep.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t bother him much. He’d take a nap, once he’d fulfilled whatever obligations he had with the kids. That typically meant he ate breakfast with them, then napped in the den until lunch. Sometimes he’d have to help with something, _go shopping,_ or some other nonsense. But rarely did he have no opportunity to catch up on sleep before patrol again.

Today, though.

His morning coffee was already failing him, and it was barely 10am.

The Drakes had refused his call earlier that morning, when he called them around 8pm their time. 5am his. According to the itinerary he’d pulled, they should have been landed for several hours at that point.

And yet. Despite the messages he _and_ Alfred had left. The texts. And the numerous texts and missed called from _their own son,_ he hadn’t heard a single word from them.

So, he called.

What did they do?

Sent him straight to voicemail.

He’d been on the verge of rage when Janet Drake texted him, letting him know they were ‘more than happy’ to schedule a call with him for the following morning, around 2pm his time, but they were in the middle of a meeting and could not speak to him at that moment.

When Bruce asked if they’d listened to their voicemail, because he’d been quite explicit that they needed to talk about Tim, he received no respond for several minutes after the ‘read’ notification.

As if they had gone back to listen to the voicemails.

Bruce had to count his breaths to calm himself. If _he_ received a voicemail from someone stating they’d found _his_ kid stranded at school and brought him home to stay the night while Bruce was unreachable, he’d be absolutely beside himself about it.

But of course, that would never happen. Because his kids had a support system. They had a handful of adults they could call for help, should something like that ever happen to them. And they weren’t _afraid_ to ask for that help.

The hole these asshole Drakes were digging themselves into… He couldn’t imagine his kids being an afterthought in his mind. Not even an afterthought, as it seemed the Drakes hadn’t thought about Tim _at all_.

At least Janet’s response had eventually been, ‘of course, is Timothy all right?’

By the time Tim joined them for breakfast, a shy little smile gracing his lips as he did, Bruce had already decided Tim was staying with them.

Tim needed better parents, and the Drakes couldn’t get away with the neglect they’d been committing, but tossing the poor kid in foster care wasn’t the answer. Throwing him into the middle of a media _storm,_ because accusing one of the Gotham elite of such heinous acts of neglect and possibly abuse would be nothing short of a storm, would do nothing to help Tim.

No.

What the kid needed was people in his corner.

Maybe this could be a wake up call to Jack and Janet. They’d come back from their trip and actually _try._

Hire a nanny, at the very least, for heaven’s sake.

And if they failed again, well, Wayne Manor was right next door. He had no illusions that Tim would overcome the clear anxiety he had about asking for help or attention in a week or two, however long it was the Drakes were away, but he hoped _maybe_ he’d at least become good enough friends with the boys that _they’d_ notice when Tim needed it.

Downing the rest of his third coffee, Bruce tried to embrace the caffeine, and stood from the desk in his study to go find Tim.

Noticing the door to the library open, he went and poked his head inside, but saw the usual Saturday-morning sight. Jason sitting on his favorite couch, lost in whatever book he was reading that day. Bruce knocked on the wall and said, once Jason looked up, “You know where Tim is?”

“In the kitchen, doing his homework.”

“Why is he-“ Bruce started, but Jason rolled his eyes and cut him off.

“Alfred is making _Damian_ do his homework cause he skipped it yesterday, and I guess Tim thought that meant he had to, too.”

“Ah.” Well, it certainly couldn’t _hurt_ for Tim to have help with his homework, if he needed it. Alfred usually had Damian do his at the kitchen island while he made dinner each evening, that way he could answer any questions Damian had. Jason usually finished his homework at school, and rarely had anything to work on at home.

‘That’s what study hall is _for,’_ he always said, when Bruce questioned it. He’d long since quit questioning it, though. His grades spoke for themselves.

Down in the kitchen, Bruce was quite amused to find a clearly frustrated Tim dealing with Damian, who was looking over Tim’s shoulder and reading his worksheet.

“Dad,” Damian exclaimed, when he walked in, “5th grade work is just as easy as 3rd grade work. I know the answers to _all_ of Tim’s homework.”

“That’s great, buddy, but why don’t you focus on your own homework and leave Tim’s alone.”

“It’s just a review sheet,” Tim muttered, curling down over his paper a little more as he started scratching out his answers. Once Bruce stepped closer, he saw it was simple multiplication. Tim was breezing right through it, writing down the answers for two and three digit problems without hesitating.

Smart kid.

“I texted with your parents this morning, Tim,” he said, once Tim finished that worksheet and started putting it back into his folder. It looked like the boy had a little more homework left to do, but it was still Saturday morning. They had plenty of time to make sure it got done.

Tim’s eyes widened at Bruce’s admission, and he looked up and said, “You did? When?” almost demandingly.

“Around 5, it was quite early.”

That didn’t seem to be the answer Tim was hoping for. Because he immediately deflated and said, “Oh,” small and quiet.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he upset it’d been too early for him to catch his parents? Or… what? Bruce set his hand on Tim’s back without thinking, and rubbed a circle to try and soothe him.

By the time his brain caught up, shouting at him not to touch the kid terrified of him, Tim had already stiffened and then relaxed against his hand.

Maybe he wasn’t afraid of Bruce…?

When Tim sighed, Bruce moved his hand to Tim’s shoulder and squeezed. “We agreed on a call at 2 this afternoon.”

“With me too?” Tim asked, finally looking up at Bruce. His face was hard to read, but he didn’t look terrified, so there was that.

“Absolutely.” Bruce hadn’t planned one way or the other, but he didn’t have a major problem with Tim listening in on the call. Or even participating in it. He deserved to know what they were saying about him, after all.

Tim opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something more, but he snapped it shut and turned his attention back down to the homework in front of him.

Patting at his shoulder and letting go, Bruce said, “How about we go over to your house now and pack you a bag.”

Before Tim could respond, Damian perked up and said, “Can I come, Dad?”

“No, Damian. Finish your homework.”

Damian pouted, but silently. They’d had a talk the night before, and Bruce told him to back off and give Tim space. Just like he’d done with Jason, in the beginning. He _understood,_ but sometimes getting an eight-year-old to actually _listen_ was difficult. Damian was a good kid, though. Bruce trusted him to do what was right.

Tim looked up at him, again, and had a spark in his eyes. The same spark Bruce had seen in his boys a million times, whenever they wanted to fight him and argue their ways out of something they didn’t want to do.

But instead of actually argue, Tim clenched his jaw and looked away again.

“Come on, kiddo,” he said, stepping back to give Tim room to get down, “You’re going to want your own stuff.”

The drive over to the Drake Mansion was short. Tim spent the entire ride picking at his fingernails, his eyes never leaving his hands.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of him. He couldn’t _tell_ if Tim was afraid of him or not. With Jason, it’d been rather obvious. Not only was he much more verbal about everything he _wasn’t_ going to do for Bruce, he wasn’t quite as skilled at hiding his emotions. One look at Jason’s face and it was easy to know exactly what he was feeling in that moment.

With Tim, though, all Bruce could decipher was anxiety. But anxiety could be connected to anything. He could just be upset his parents left him. Mad Alfred and Bruce weren’t letting him go on living by himself and nervous about what that meant for him. _Or_ he could be worried about his safety in Bruce’s house…

Or it could be all of that…

He couldn’t tell.

Bruce pulled up the Drake’s long driveway, after Tim told him the code for unlocking the gate. It was a beautiful house. More modern than Wayne Manor. Smaller. But sometimes Bruce felt Wayne Manor was too large.

Tim finally looked up once Bruce parked, but his attention did not go to Bruce. Instead, he stared out at the house in front of them, and looked… sad.

Was it weird Bruce thought that was good?

“Are you going to call the police after the call later?” Tim asked, after staring for a moment.

Okay, maybe not good.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so… blunt with Tim the night before. But it was important Tim _understand_ that this entire situation was _wrong._

He wasn’t entirely convinced Tim did, though.

“Oh,” Tim exhaled, and somehow, looked even sadder.

“Unless you want me to?” he asked. Maybe…

“No,” Tim exclaimed, turning to Bruce, a desperate look in his eyes.

“Okay,” he tried to soothe. So much for that hope. “I was thinking you could just stay with us, until your parents get back.”

The anxiety quickly returned, and Bruce watched as Tim sank back down, hunching his shoulders some as he whispered, “Can’t my parents just hire a nanny?”

Well sure. He _hoped_ they would. But nannies weren’t something that could be hired over the phone without an interview. An in person meeting. Live interaction with the child to be watched.

At least, not in Bruce’s book.

“They _can,_ but not without interviewing her first. This is Gotham, Tim.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Tim said, like he understood _perfectly_ what that meant. Hopefully he just watched the news…

There was no telling whether Tim had had bad experiences with nannies in the past.

“I promise you’re safe in my house,” he tried. Saying that never once convinced Jason, he knew, but soon enough they’d all _show_ Tim, and hopefully whatever fears of Bruce he might or might not have had would dissipate.

Tim surprised him by saying, “I know,” much more confidently than expected.

“And it’s no imposition, either,” he added.

When Tim sank down further in his seat at that, Bruce just nodded. Fear of attention, not of being hurt, then.

Right.

Good. Bruce could work with that.

“You’ll fit right into our routine with no problem,” he said, turning the car off and unbuckling, “so how about we go get your stuff.”

Bruce followed Tim into the house. Tim unlocked and disarmed the house with the ease of years of experience. He wasn’t sure even _Dick_ could disarm Wayne Manor that easily.

Even with the years of training Dick had with disarming security systems.

As he follow Tim down a hall and up a staircase, he looked around. And the house was very… strange. Off putting, almost. It was big, spacious, and absolutely spotless. Even though the housekeeper was out of town.

Wayne Manor never came close to looking _this_ spotless. Even with Alfred working as hard as he did. It was difficult to keep up with the kids, sometimes, and the rooms they used tended to look more on the cluttered side than the decorated perfection the Drake house had. The room Bruce could only assume was the living room looked pristine. Large, beautiful sectional couch with art and simple decorations.

 _His_ main living room, the one they used when guests were over, currently had a half-finished game of monopoly on the coffee table.

Up the stairs and down another hall, Tim opened the door to his bedroom, and Bruce was a little relieved at the sight.

Because it was an absolute mess.

At least there was _some_ evidence a child lived in this house somewhere.

“Uh, sorry,” Tim mumbled as he started picking up the dirty clothes off the floor and tossing them into an empty hamper, sitting on the edge of the room.

Bruce stepped further into the room, and leaned against the doorframe as he said, “Don’t worry about it.” Heaven knew his own kids didn’t understand the function of hampers.

Or… him. Sometimes. Alfred usually fussed at him about it.

“What should I pack?” Tim asked once he’d cleared most of the clothes off the floor.

“Well, let’s start with a week’s worth of things. We can come back for more if needed, once we know how long your parents will be out of town.”

The way Tim cringed, a little, at Bruce’s comment gave Bruce pause. Almost like… “Tim, do you know how long they’ll be out of town?” He thought Tim didn’t know about this trip. Had he spoken with his parents already?

“Uh,” Tim stammered, turning his back to Bruce as he started rummaging through his closet, “Well, I don’t know. I thought they were supposed to leave in February, but obviously….”

He waited for Tim to complete the thought, but instead he started tossing shoes out of his closet to free the suitcase at the back.

So Tim _did_ know about the trip?

Bruce stepped further into the room and took a seat on the edge of Tim’s bed. On the side that wasn’t covered in a pile of blankets and pillows, then asked, “When were they due to get back?”

Tim looked back at him, then quickly looked away again, ducking his head back down, stammering out another “Um” as he did.

Several seconds passed in silence, as Bruce tried to be patient. But already he could feel the twist in his stomach. There was no way he was going to like Tim’s answer, was there?

“May?” Tim squeaked, his shoulders up around his ears as he stared at Bruce. Or, really, cringed at Bruce, like he was just as afraid of Bruce’s respond as Bruce had been of the answer.

It took a second for that word to _register._

May, as in the _month?_

His parents were set to be gone for _four months._

They had left their _ten-year-old_ son _alone_ for four months. Expected him to fend for himself. Get himself to and from school. Feed himself. Get himself to bed and up in the morning.

For.

Four.

Months.

Bruce put two fingers on each of his temples, and started rubbing. If he weren’t so _pissed_ he knew he’d have a major headache from all this.

This was far more than criminal neglect, Bruce was positive. It was outright abuse. Social Services would have enough evidence in this _right here_ to remove Tim from the home immediately.

And when the Drakes got back….

in _fucking May_

Bruce might still call social services on them.

In the meantime, though, he’d have to keep his promise.

Four months was a very different commitment than one or two weeks… That meant Tim would be with them through most of the rest of the school year. He’d be with them for spring break.

How the hell they’d be able to keep downstairs secret from him for four months, Bruce wasn’t sure. He was clearly smart, but hopefully he was oblivious.

Otherwise…

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t break his promise and thrust Tim into the storm reporting this would cause.

_Fuck._

Bruce needed a couple hours with his punching bag again.

Preferably _before_ he cussed out Jack and Janet Drake later that afternoon.

After a deep, steadying breath, Bruce chanced a glance back up at Tim. He looked just as anxious as ever, but that was it. No real fear on his face. He was standing there, warring at his lip, clearly nervous, but not particularly frightened, despite Bruce’s reaction.

That was a relief, he supposed.

Something good to focus on.

They could work through all of this. Bruce apparently had four months.

“Okay,” he said, focusing on breathing slowly and calmly, “All right. Get whatever you need, then. Your school stuff, clothes, toys, whatever you want.”

“Uh,” Tim said, toying with the sleeve on the shirt of Damian’s he was wearing, “Okay.” He turned around and pulled that suitcase he’d been freeing from the over-stuffed closet and kicked it into the center of the floor, then started shoving various pieces of his school uniform inside. Shoes, one shoe at a time, as he found the pairs scattered around. A couple random pieces of day clothes.

He seemed to know what he was packing, despite the unorganized nature of it, so Bruce kept himself from commenting on it. If he forgot anything, this house _was_ right next door. It’s not like coming back would be difficult.

Once he’d collected up things from the floor and hamper that he needed, Bruce would need to tell Alfred about Tim’s laundry, he moved to his dresser and started rifling through for what looked like pajamas.

Amusingly, Tim opened a drawer, and right up on top was a whole collection of superhero t-shirts. Tim’s cheeks turned a little red as he started digging through them, where Bruce saw each shirt had a matching pair of pj pants.

It never ceased to amuse him how embarrassed little boys got by having little kid things. Jason was the same way. He had a collection of toys that he’d received, mostly through gifts, and he always got flustered when anyone caught him so much as looking at them.

“Do you like superheroes?” he asked, as he averted his attention from Tim’s clothes, so hopefully to stop embarrassing him so much. As he looked, though, he started noticing the sheer _amount_ of superhero memorabilia around the room. Pictures of superheroes _everywhere._ Action figures on the bookshelves. Comic books on the desk.

This kid was a _huge_ superhero fan.

“Yes sir,” Tim basically squeaked, then corrected himself, “Uh. Bruce.”

“So do my boys,” Bruce said warmly, “You should get Dick to show you his action figure collection. I think it’s still in his room in the Manor. It was his goal for the longest time to get an action figure of every known superhero out there.”

The number of trips they’d made to stores while traveling _specifically_ so Dick could find a figure of a local hero… Said heroes were usually incredibly flattered, if they found out about then-Robin’s collection.

Tim smiled, a little, as he pulled a couple pairs of pajamas from the bottom of the drawer. Some solid colors and basic patterns.

Maybe once he saw Jason wearing Green Lantern shirts, just because he knew it annoyed Bruce, Tim would feel more comfortable in his Batman or Superman things.

That would be quite amusing, actually. A kid in his house wearing Batman things. His kids were banned from wearing Batman symbols, just because when the boys _had_ to be in disguise, it was a simple domino mask with a Batman t-shirt or hoody. They couldn’t have anyone making a connection between Batman’s children and the Wayne kids.

“You should have seen how excited Dick was when the first Nightwing figure came out,” he added, noticing that Tim had that same Nightwing figure, prominently displayed on his dresser.

Dick had been eighteen years old already when he found it at the mall, and had reminded Bruce of his ten-year-old self, back when the first Robin doll came out. He’d been just as excited _then,_ too. It was highly amusing and incredibly exasperating.

Tim smiled fully then, in a shy little way that told Bruce he was trying _not to,_ but couldn’t help it.

More of that was Bruce’s new goal. For the next four months. Get Tim to smile.

After Tim got enough clothes in the suitcase, he packed up his Nintendo Switch, along with a small box of games. Damian was going to be quite happy about that, he knew. A couple books and a laptop were packed next, then Tim zipped up the suitcase.

Bruce thought Tim was done, but then he pulled a professional looking camera bag from under his bed, and set it on the mattress, right next to where Bruce was sitting, and opened it up.

Inside was no fewer than _four_ nice lenses, and a whole collection of filters, flash attachments, and half a dozen SD cards. The only thing missing was a camera, which Tim went and pulled from a drawer of his desk.

It was quite an expensive DSRL, too.

“You do photography?” Bruce asked, as Tim was zipping up the bag, with the camera now inside.

He thought it was an easy question. Something simple to answer. But Tim outright froze at the question, and clutched the bag close to his body. “Uh,” he said, after he seemed to snap himself out of his and started nodding, a little, “Yes.”

“How long have you been doing it?” he asked, hoping Tim had just _forgotten_ Bruce was sitting there. He seemed to be up in his head a lot. Alfred had commented on how Tim seemed to forget he was in the middle of a conversation with people, sometimes.

“I, uh, got my first camera when I was seven,” he mumbled, placing the bag with his suitcase in the middle of the room.

“Impressive. Can I see some of your work?”

Bruce’s hopes that Tim was ‘just in his head’ were completely dashed when Tim looked outright _panicked_ at his request.

Had anyone ever showed interest in this kid’s hobbies? Did his parents even _know_ he did photography?

Did he have a credit card? Most likely. It wouldn’t be possible for him to ‘fend for himself’ without some sort of money. Did he have free rein of said card?

It was very possible his parents had ‘bought’ him the equipment without even knowing it.

This was why he had text alerts set up on his kids’ cards.

Tim finally seemed to shake himself of it, because he suddenly opened the cabinet on his desk and pulled out a book from the back, where it looked like it had been hidden. Opening it up, Tim looked inside, then nodded at himself as he skipped back over to Bruce, and sat down right next to him on the bed, holding the photo album out for Bruce to take.

So Bruce did, and he opened it. Just on the first page, which consisted of a few photographs of the gardens outside the Drake Mansion, Bruce could already tell the kid was talented.

His work was almost professional looking. Perfect focus. Artistic framing. Interesting subject.

The Drakes were missing out if they didn’t know about their kid’s clear gift.

They passed the next hour going through the photo album. Bruce wouldn’t have cut it short for anything. Because the passion Tim exuded while explaining what the pictures were, or how he had captured a particular view, was good to see.

It was good to know there was a chatty child in there.

Hopefully they’d get to see more of _this_ Tim over the next four months.

Jack and Janet Drake really didn’t deserve him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! I started working on this yesterday because I really wanted to work on Jason and the Three Terrors but I'm not allowed to until this chapter was done. Then it took me a ridiculously long time to get this chapter done, so it's barely even early now. But whatever. Baby Tim is already starting to bask in the positive attention being thrown his way, it's adorable. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story still. Your encouragement is what keeps me going. (otherwise this story would just be a daydream in my head, where I would enjoy it still but not share it lol)


	7. Bruce

How did Bruce keep managing this? 

He kept acquiring children without meaning to. 

Well, he definitely _meant_ to take Dick in. Maybe not become his father and all that, but the initial bringing-him-home had been intentional. 

Damian was… what it was. He was thankful for Damian, regardless. 

And with Jason, he’d certainly known what he was doing when he brought the starving boy home with him. Again, hadn’t set out to adopt him, but it’d always been an option in the back of his mind, if he were honest with himself. 

At least with Tim adoption was _not_ an option. Tim _had_ parents. It was a bit of a reassurance to know that Tim was legitimately, actually, completely not permanent. Bruce did not have to worry about the long-term for once.

Well. Not in the traditional sense. 

Because he was definitely worried about _Tim’s_ long term, after his four month stay with them. 

He still couldn’t believe that was how long the Drakes left for. 

Four.

Months.

What was going to happen to Tim after those four months were up? Would his parents come home and stay? Hire him an actual, decent nanny? Or would they stay for a month again, maybe a few weeks, then up and leave, ditching Tim all over again?

If they did _that,_ well…

Then Bruce would reconsider this ‘not permanent’ thing. He was _supposed_ to be honest with himself, after all. 

Spending just a couple hours with Tim was all it took for Bruce to realize what a gem he was. Smart, talented, and extremely passionate. It was great to see such enthusiasm in a ten-year-old, and it was an absolute _shame_ the Drakes didn’t seem to care.

That was the only explanation Bruce could come up with, for parents outright abandoning their child like that. 

Bruce just had to find a way to make them care. Maybe if he threatened to turn them over to the police, they’d spend more time with Tim upon their return, and it would happen naturally. 

Tim spent the time after lunch playing with Damian, the two of them playing against each other on their little game things. 

It was nice to see Damian getting along with kids his age. He and Jason got along well, but they were brothers. It was a different sort of relationship. Plus, they bickered about 80% of the time, and it could become tiresome to listen to. 

So far, he and Tim hadn’t bickered about a single thing. 

Although, that could be caused by Tim’s shyness…

Just before two, Tim came to the study for the phone call, as Bruce had requested. He knocked, quietly, and hesitated in the door, like he wasn’t sure if he were _still_ welcome. 

“Heya, Tim,” Bruce said from his desk, motioning for Tim to come in and sit down. Tim gave him a funny look, but did sit on down across from Bruce. 

Bruce had been spending the afternoon _trying_ not to simmer over everything. It was nearly impossible to get into the ‘Brucie’ character when he was pissed. 

“Are you and Damian having fun?” 

“Yes s-, uh. Yeah,” Tim said, fidgeting in his seat a little and absolutely avoiding eye contact.

Poor kid. 

Were they going to hit ‘reset’ on his nerves every couple hours? Bruce had had him so relaxed before lunch…

“Well, that’s great. I’m always glad to see Damian make new friends.” 

The little smile Tim tried to hide in response warmed Bruce. 

Janet Drake called him four minutes past two. 

Had the call been much later, Bruce would have called _himself,_ but she had requested that morning that they be the one to call him. She ‘wasn’t sure’ who would be available, after all. 

Bruce just plastered on a smile, and tried not to think about their priorities. Or lack thereof. 

“Janet,” he greeted, after answering the phone on speaker so Tim could hear too, “So good to hear your voice.” He set the phone down on the middle of the desk, so hopefully Janet would be able to hear both him and Tim speak without much trouble. 

“ _Bruce, darling_ ,” she responded, in her signature drawl that always made her sound completely uninterested and bored. 

Tim cringed at her voice, and Bruce couldn’t tell if it was because this was Janet’s ‘public persona’ or if he were just nervous about speaking to his mother. Apparently, neither of his parents had so much as _texted him_ since ditching him the day before. 

Getting angry would not help this situation… 

No matter how pleased it would make him to rip Janet Drake a new one. 

“I’ve got you on speaker,” Bruce said, still forcing his voice to sound cheerful. Cheerful idiot. That was him, “and little Timmy is here with me.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Janet said, and was that… disappointment? Annoyance? This was going to be harder than he thought. “ _Hello, Timothy._ ” 

“Hi, Mom,” Tim said, shrinking down on himself a little more. 

Yep. This was going to be _way_ harder than he thought.

“What is it you wanted to talk about, Bruce?” Janet then asked, her voice back to the drawl. 

It took everything in him to say, “Your son, of course,” without sounding incredulous. He failed. A little. 

“ _Of course,_ ” she repeated, “ _We do appreciate your staff giving him a ride home when ours failed to._ ”

Yeah. This was ‘the staff’s’ fault. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had staff! I’ve had so much trouble tracking them down, you see.”

“ _Of course we have staff, dear,_ ” Janet said, clearly smiling like this were no big deal, “ _We pay Mrs. McIlvaine to look after him when we are away._ ”

Bruce hummed. “I see. Where is she right now, then?”

“ _Timothy, darling_ ,” Janet said, only _slightly_ sweeter while speaking to her son, “ _where_ is _Mrs. Mac? She was meant to look after you while we were gone_.”

“Uh,” Tim stammered, his eyes adverting down to his lap as he did, “Ireland, Mom. She was gonna visit her sister.” 

Which was exactly what the woman’s voicemail said. 

“ _Speak up, Timothy_ ,” Janet said, “ _What have I told you about mumbling?_ ”

With a deep breath, Tim sat up and leaned toward the phone, then said with clear enunciating, “She’s in Ireland.”

“ _Watch your tone, darling_ ,” Janet said, and Bruce could just _see_ her dismissing him with a hand with how she said that. 

Was _this_ how she spoke to her son? No wonder Tim was so damn nervous about speaking to adults, if _this_ was his experience. Bruce could definitely see the Drakes knowing _nothing_ about Tim, if this was how all their conversations went. 

Bruce realized he was staring when Tim looked up, just for his eyes to immediately dart away. He would have to add ‘genuine conversation’ to the list of things Tim needed over the next four months. 

That list was getting long…

“ _We were not aware she had gone so far for her little break_ ,” Janet continued, “ _It was our understanding she would remain in Gotham. Hm. We may have to reconsider her employment._ ”

A woman who knowingly and willingly participated in the neglect of a child wasn’t one Bruce would feel too bad about losing her job, even _if_ she hadn’t done anything wrong. 

Tim seemed to disagree, though, because he blurted out, “What? You can’t!” before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He looked at Bruce with wide eyes, then cringed when Janet spoke. 

“Timothy _,”_ she said sharply, then took an audible breath before adding, much more calmly, “ _Why don’t you let Mr. Wayne and I discuss this in private, sweetie._ ”

“But…” Tim said softly, even as he stood from his chair. 

“ _We will call you later today, all right darling? Once your father is available_.”

Bruce really hoped he was just imaging Tim turning a shade paler as he nodded and said, “Okay, Mom,” and slowly left the room. 

He had to take a deep breath as he rubbed at his temples, just to prevent himself from exploding on Janet for dismissing her son like that. Tim deserved to be part of this discussion. They were discussing _him,_ after all. He should have a say or opinion in how he is cared for. 

There wasn’t enough time to compose himself before Janet was asking, “ _What is this about, Brucie dear? I have a meeting-_ “

Because, to use Jason’s favorite word, fuck her. He grabbed the phone and turned off speaker, so he could pace while he spoke.

“This is about _Tim_ being left alone, out in the cold, for an _hour_ before my butler noticed him, because his parents up and left for Australia without arranging care for him, first. Which, under New Jersey state law, is classified of abuse and abandonment. I should have called the police _yesterday_ about this, but-”

Janet seemed wholly unconcerned about what he was saying, because she cut in with a far too pleasant voice, “ _We_ did _arrange care for him, darling. Do not be so dramatic. We spoke to Mrs. Mac ourselves earlier this week, and she said she would be there._ ”

That…

Bruce paused in his pacing and just blinked, a couple times. 

Because… _what?_

How was that even possible?

Mrs. Mac had left her phone in Gotham. There was _no way._

Was Janet honestly _lying_ about this?

This wasn’t even a good thing to lie about! Claiming she’d personally _spoken_ with Mrs. Mac was such an easy thing to disprove. Bruce recorded _all_ his phone calls, and since New Jersey was a one-party state, he didn’t have to inform anyone of that. All he’d have to do was pull this recording, pull Mrs. Mac’s voicemail message, and ‘let the police’ pull the phone records of both of them. 

Batman would have all this saved in a folder that evening. Just in case he needed it, one day, that was. For if he _did_ decide to report the Drakes. He was still on the fence about that. 

Janet Drake was not helping her case much by pushing him. It wasn’t going to take much to get him to fall off that fence. 

“That doesn’t change the factno one _lives_ with Tim while you are on your trips,” Bruce said, still working on tamping his anger back down. At least his voice was calm. “He is left alone overnight and on weekends.”

With almost a laugh, Janet said, “ _Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce. Of course Mrs. McIlvaine lives with Tim._ ”

“That is not what Tim tells me,” he said mildly, sitting back down at his desk and putting his feet up on the desk. The Drakes thought he was stupid. 

At least his cover worked, he supposed.

With another laugh, Janet said, “ _Tim is quite adept at telling stories. I assure you, what he has told you is not accurate._ ” 

Right. Bruce completely believed _that._

“Oh, so _Tim’s_ the liar,” he said sardonically. 

“ _Regardless_ ,” Janet scoffed, “ _I will hire a new caretaker for him and have them retrieve Tim within the hour_.”

No she _won’t._

“You can’t hire someone sight unseen on such short notice in _Gotham,_ Janet,” he said, forcing himself to sound aghast, “Haven’t you heard the horror stories? Nothing good could come from that. You know, my Damian nearly got kidnapped one time.” 

“ _Yes,_ ” she drawled, “ _how awful. What would you suggest we do, then, hmm? We cannot cut this trip short. It is for work, not that_ you’d _understand what that was like._ ”

Bruce didn’t understand what that was like, she was right. Who in their right mind put work ahead of this children in such a significant way. It was one thing to prioritize work _because_ it provided for the family. It was another thing entirely to prioritize work above the child himself, to the point of _ignoring_ and _neglecting_ him. 

Batman was the closest thing Bruce had to something get in the way of his kids, but even then, he was Batman _because_ of his kids. _For_ them. So they could grow up in a city just a little less crime ridden. 

Jack and Janet Drake were in Australia for, what, exactly? Archaeology? 

“Do you even care about your son?” he asked, not even caring if he sounded judgmental anymore. At this point, it didn’t matter. Janet deserved it.

“ _Honestly_ ,” she said, seemingly not even bothered by Bruce’s tone, “ _Brucie dear, I cannot believe you would believe such vile things about us. Of_ course _we care about our Timothy. It’s not our fault the nanny broke her word, now is it?_ ”

“Yes, the ‘nanny’ you somehow spoke to while she’s in Ireland, out of contact, for a month.”

“ _Don’t you worry, her employment status will soon reflect this breech in trust_ ,” Janet said seriously. Bruce still couldn’t find it in himself to care if that woman got fired. “ _Now, what do you suggest we do for Timothy, if not hire a new nanny for him?_ ”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, then sat up and forced a smile. For now, he needed to just play her stupid game. 

“I would love for you to hire a nanny, but you should wait until you are stateside. I would _hate_ for the next person to be just as bad as the last, and you can certainly avoid that by conducting in person interviews. I know how _hard_ it can be to find good help in Gotham.” 

Alfred would kill him, if he were there to hear him speak like this. 

“Until then,” he said, adding more cheer into his voice, “Alfred and I are willing to watch him.”

“ _We couldn’t possibly ask you to watch him until May. We’ll-_ “

“It’s no problem at all!” Bruce interrupted, forcing himself not to grit his teeth and sound like he was _seething._ Play her game. Just get through it. “My boys are 8 and 13, you know. They get along with Tim just great! In fact, he’s keeping them entertained, so it’s a win for everyone! No one will blink an eye at Tim staying with his friends.”

Janet was quiet for a moment, before she finally hummed, “ _Well, if you don’t mind, that would work. Now, if that is all, I really_ do _have a meeting to get to. We’ll keep in touch._ ”

“Yes,” Bruce said, “I look forward to it.” 

When Janet ended the call, barely as soon as Bruce had finished speaking, Bruce threw his phone at his desk. He threw it too hard, so it slid too far, and smacked to the ground on the other side. 

He didn’t care. 

He had to take a second to just breathe. He’d _definitely_ failed in his plan to not get angry, but whatever. Tim deserved _someone_ getting angry on his behalf. The world saw him as a cheerful idiot who cared about kids, too, so it’s not like he was ruining anything, anyway. 

Bruce sighed, then stood up to walk to the door of his study. He poked his head out and looked down to see exactly what he expected. 

“Tim,” he said gently, offering a smile when Tim looked up at him from where he was curled up, sitting on the ground and hugging his knees. “You all right, sport?”

“They can’t fire Mrs. Mac. She didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, almost tearfully while not _actually_ crying. 

Poor kid.

With a motion, Bruce asked Tim to come back into the study. 

“Can’t you convince my mom not to fire her?” Tim pleaded, once he sat down on the couch against the wall, “She needs this job.”

Bruce sighed again, and sat down on the couch next to him. “Tim, there’s really not much I can do.” 

“Can- can we contact her? So I can say sorry?”

Sorry for what? That woman did not deserve Tim’s loyalty, no matter how nice to him she was. She should have reported them for neglect a year prior, when they first fired their nanny. 

“Son, you have no reason to be sorry.”

“But-“ Tim started, then stopped, snapping his jaw shut. He turned to face forward, so he was no longer looking at Bruce. 

It wasn’t even a surprise. Janet Drake probably called any sentence that started with “but” back talking. 

Or, just anything said _back_ to her, when she said anything. 

Yet another thing Bruce would have to work on with Tim. The list was mounting. 

“I’ll keep my eye on her, okay?” he soothed, placing a hand on Tim’s back and rubbing it, “Make sure she’s doing okay.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.” 

Tim nodded, then went silent. Bruce let it go on for several minutes, as he just leaned back and with his arm up on the couch behind Tim. The kid had a lot to process, he was sure.

It was official, he supposed. Tim Drake was staying with them for four months. 

And, he and the family had their work cut out for them when it came to Tim, he was sure. It was nothing they couldn’t handle.

Four months was a long time after all, and it could start right that minute. 

“Have you ever played chess?” he asked, sitting up and motioning toward the chess table against the wall. Kids were never too young to learn how to play.

To Bruce’s delight, however, Tim nodded, and easily followed him over to the table. 

Chatty Tim was back within twenty minutes, telling Bruce all about the chess tournaments his class had back in the fall, when they’d all been taught how to play. Tim was, apparently, the reigning 5th grade champion, mostly because he’d played chess online before they were taught in school.

All Bruce could wonder the entire time they played was ‘how on earth had such a vile woman created such a delightful child?’ 

Bruce was getting a little excited about those four months, if he were being honest. Which he was. 

When Tim didn’t stop smiling all afternoon, Bruce figured the feeling was mutual. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU KASY. You guys, I think I wrote 7k words for this 3k chapter. I did the first draft on... Wednesday? Thursday? Something like that, but it just wasn't working, so I brought it to Kasyfairytaillover and she really helped me flesh out Janet's character, because I was writing her so inconsistently with how she's written in future scenes that are already done and eek. So several rewrites later, here we all. So thank you Kasy, for helping out so much (always!) but especially with this chapter. 
> 
> ALSO, I bought Animal Crossing yesterday and it is destroying my life. :) I'm so happy. I'll try not to let it consume me and prevent me from posting things on time, but no promises. It's a very fun game. :D
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and all the wonderful comments you guys are leaving me. Honestly every time I get a new one it just makes my day, so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️. Hope you guys have a lovely week.


	8. Tim

Tim couldn’t decide if it had been a good day. It’d certainly been strange, that’s for sure.

First, he woke up in _Wayne Manor._

Which, awesome.

He’d always sort of maybe dreamed of what it would be like to live in a house like Wayne Manor… Big and spacious, yet alive and full of people.

Turns out, it was a little overwhelming. So far, he’d barely been left alone. But that wasn’t entirely bad.

Bruce… Bruce was so much more awesome than he had ever imagined. He _knew_ Batman was one of the coolest heroes out there, but he was also super nice, too? For some reason Tim never imagined he’d be nice to random kids.

But there Bruce was. He’d sat and listened to Tim ramble for, like, an _hour_ about his stupid photos. Not even _Mom_ had done that, and Tim made that photo album for Mom.

Well. He’d made it because he wanted to show her his photography, so she’d understand why he always asked for more camera stuff. Not that she or Dad ever said ‘no’ when he asked for camera stuff. He just thought, maybe, they’d want to see his hobby. Since he couldn’t show them his Batman pictures, it would be good to have an album of safe photos.

He’d been so excited once he finished it he showed it to Mom the first second he could, when she was home back in the fall.

She hadn’t understood, though. She said it was ‘nice’ he’d put together a book of pictures he liked, and when he tried to explain he _took_ them, she still didn’t get it. She assumed he printed them off from the internet and had told him she didn’t have time to look through it, but she was ‘glad’ Tim had fun putting it together.

If Mom didn’t get it, he knew Dad wouldn’t, so he hadn’t even tried to show him. The album got shoved into the back of his desk that afternoon, so Tim wouldn’t have to look at it ever again. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away, since he'd worked so hard on making it.

It didn’t matter, anyway, if Mom and Dad approved of his hobby. They still bought him a new lens when he asked a few months later. He’d dropped his telephoto lens off the roof one night, and it was, sadly, unsalvageable. Dad didn’t even ask _why_ he needed a new one, so he hadn’t had to come up with an excuse about tripping while playing in the garden.

For a while, Tim had hated the stupid album, but now he was thankful he’d made it. If he _hadn’t,_ he would have had nothing to show Bruce. He couldn’t show him _Batman_ pictures! And how on earth would he explain all his camera stuff without pictures to show??

Another good thing about the day had been the entire afternoon.

Well, after the whole phone call thing.

Mostly because of Bruce, again. He’d spent the _entire_ afternoon, right up until dinner, _playing_ with him.

Like.

What???

He was _Bruce Wayne._

_Batman._

And he spent pretty much the whole entire day entertaining some random neighbor kid. 

Tim was almost sure it was just because he was so upset about Mrs. Mac probably getting fired, but it was still super nice of Bruce. Damian had come and found them about an hour into them playing chess, too. He’d climbed up on Bruce’s knee, declaring himself on Bruce’s ‘team,’ then started making all the decisions for Bruce.

Damian lost four times in a row to Tim.

But that was mostly because Damian was eight, and he apparently had never cared about chess. He kept trying to move his knight wrong, and every time Bruce corrected him, he’d say, “but I want the horsey to go this way.”

Tim still wasn’t sure if Damian was teasing Bruce or not. It kind of seemed like he _knew_ calling the pieces stupid names would annoy his dad. He eventually whined that chess was boring, and they ended up switching to scrabble.

It’d been fun. Tim almost wished they didn’t have to stop. But then dinner came, and Bruce had to do work after dinner, or something. He wasn’t very clear about what it was, but Jason went with him, and Tim didn’t want to ask about it. Tim had hogged Bruce basically all day, and he _knew_ Bruce had way more important things to do. Like spend time with Jason.

Besides. Dad finally texted him while they were eating, and told Tim to call him as soon as possible. Meaning: as soon as he was alone. He texted Dad back almost immediately, explaining they were eating dinner but he’d call him as soon as they were done.

Dad didn’t respond, but at least his text got marked as read.

Alfred made Damian help clean up after dinner, so it was easy for Tim to slip away and retreat to the guest room. Tim _knew_ he could tell Damian to go away, Bruce had said as much, but it seemed like a mean thing to do. And Damian really liked playing with him, for some reason. Tim still didn’t get that.

He wasn’t going to complain, though.

In ‘his’ room, Tim shut the door and climbed up on the bed, then just took a second to relax. He knew Dad was going to be mad, but _maybe_ he could convince Dad not to fire Mrs. Mac. They could tell Bruce they were giving her another chance, or something. She didn’t _have_ to lose her job over this.

Although, if she had told Mom she was going to be there to pick Tim up, she _had_ dropped the ball…

Dad answered the phone after a couple rings, and Tim could tell right away that he wasn’t happy, just by how he said, “ _Timothy_.”

The tone of his voice just made his stomach twist a little. There was almost no chance he’d convince Dad not to fire Mrs. Mac.

“Hi, Dad,” he said, trying to pretend he didn’t know Dad was mad at him, “How was your flight?”

“ _Well, it was nice until we landed to a handful of voicemails from Bruce Wayne and his butler._ ”

Heh. Right.

Bruce had been pretty mad the night before…

It made sense. Tim would probably be mad, too, if he thought he had to take care of the neighbor kid.

“ _Why would you beg a ride off the neighbor, Tim,_ ” Dad asked, “ _You are not supposed to bother the neighbors, correct?”_

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” he said, a little rushed, because he _didn’t._ He didn’t ask for the ride. He even tried to turn it down, but they didn’t let him!

“ _Do not lie to me, Timothy. I trusted you to take a cab home, just like you’ve been trained to do. You know how to call a cab, right Tim?_ ”

“Yes, sir,” he said, but before he could get the ‘but’ out, Dad was already lecturing him again.

“ _Then_ why,” Dad almost growled, “ _would you go crying to the Waynes about how your evil awful father forgot about you?”_

“I didn’t- I was going to call a cab but Damian saw me and Mr. Pennyworth insisted and-“

“- _and you should have said ’_ no thanks, I’ve got a ride,’” Dad cut in, now almost yelling at him, “ _How_ hard _is that to say?”_

“But I didn’t know if-“

Dad hated the word ‘but.’ Tim knew this. But… how else… how else could he explain?

“ _Are you back-talking me?”_ Dad shouted, and Tim just wanted to retreat to _his_ room. Back home. And pretend none of this happened at all. As it was, he pulled his knees up to his chest and focused on keeping his voice steady. His stupid jaw kept trying to shake and that wouldn’t help _anything._

“ _Listen you-“_ Dad started, but then abruptly cut off when Mom said something Tim couldn’t make out.

There was some rustling, and Tim heard her say, “ _Give me the phone._ ”

Tim sniffed and rested his arm on top of his knees, so he could set his head there.

“ _Timothy, sweetheart,”_ Mom said, after a second, and Tim just wanted her to be _there_ so she could give him a hug. He hadn’t meant to make Dad so mad.

“Hi, Mom.”

“ _What your father is trying to say is you’ve made the Waynes think we don’t care about you.”_

He kind of already knew that. Bruce didn’t seem to care about what Tim had to say about it, though. No matter how many times he insisted he was fine and taken care of, Bruce kept insisting that he _wasn’t._

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, picking at a loose thread on his pants. He really _hadn’t._ But intentions didn’t matter when the results were _this,_ he supposed, with Bruce threatening to call the police and stuff.

“ _I know, darling, but you need to understand. Your father and I made all the necessary arrangements for you. We did not forget about you at all, but now Mr. Wayne thinks we did, and he’s not very happy with us_.”

So they had talked to Mrs. Mac…?

“ _Think about how this will reflect on us in all of Gotham. Gossip spreads so fast, and it’s likely a matter of days, not weeks, before everyone hears about how terrible we are, even though we did nothing wrong.”_

He hadn’t even thought about _that._ Was this going to hurt their business? Would they lose investors? He didn’t- he didn’t _mean._

Sniffing again, he scrubbed at his eyes and tried to stay calm as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“ _I know, darling,_ ” she said softly, “ _We’ll have to think about what has to be done about this. For now, it seems you will be staying with the Waynes. Do try to not fog their opinions of us any further, all right dear?”_

“Yes, Mom.” He didn’t know how to do that, though. Bruce was already so mad at Mom and Dad. Just because they trusted him to take care of himself.

Apparently they _shouldn’t_ have trusted him, because obviously he’d gone and messed everything up.

He should have just called for a cab as soon as he realized Dad forgot. No, didn’t forget. Wasn’t coming.

“ _All right,”_ Mom said, her voice still so sweet. It didn’t make him feel any better, though. “ _We love you, dear.”_

Nodding, Tim said, “Love you, too,” just before the line clicked.

This was all one huge mess. He hadn’t even tried to convince her not to fire Mrs. Mac.

Tim sat there for a good ten minutes, hugging his knees and trying his best not to cry. He wasn’t a _baby_ and wouldn’t cry about anything.

Although it wasn’t like Mom or Dad were _there_ to notice. But if Alfred caught him, he’d probably tell Bruce, and then Bruce would think worse of Mom and Dad, because he was ten and ten-year-olds weren’t supposed to be babies. He’d probably think Mom and Dad weren’t good at raising him, or something.

And _then_ Dad would just be more mad at him.

That just made his stomach twist more. He kind of felt like throwing up, just from thinking about it.

He didn’t even startle when someone knocked on his door, because of course someone would come to see him when he was like this. That was how his life _worked._

Before he could uncurl and scrub his face clear of any evidence, his door opened and Damian Wayne said, “Hey Tim, wanna go…" but he trailed off.

At least it was just Damian. All Damian would do was realize Tim was a baby and not worth playing with.

But… he didn’t want that either. Playing with Damian was fun, and he knew Damian would get bored with him eventually, but he was really, really hoping it wouldn’t be on day one.

Tim pulled his sleeve down into his fist and wiped his eyes, forcing himself to _stop._ He sat up and crossed his legs, so he didn’t look so pathetic, either.

Damian walked over, and Tim looked over just long enough to see that he was frowning. And carrying a cat. Apparently they had a cat _and_ a dog.

Tim had always wanted a pet.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, spending four months here, even if Damian started ignoring him now. He could watch the pets. That was probably entertaining. There were lots of videos on YouTube of pets being funny, it'd be cool to watch them in real life for once.

“This is Figaro,” Damian said, when he noticed Tim staring at the cat, “Have you met her yet?”

“No,” he said thickly. He swallowed, then sniffed. It was too late, though. Damian had definitely noticed he was crying.

“She’s a little scared of new people, sometimes,” Damian said, as he opened his arms and let the cat jump down onto Tim’s bed, “Selina gave her to me a couple years ago. Do you know who Selina is?”

Literally everyone on the planet knew who Selina was.

Nodding, Tim watched carefully as the cat stalked over to him and seemed to inspect his legs. Then, much quicker than he’d anticipated, she hopped up on him and snuggled down in his lap.

Wh- what? He looked up at Damian for… he wasn’t even sure. Guidance? But Damian just smiled at him and said, “She likes you!” so Tim looked back down at Figaro and cautiously ran his pointer finger across the top of her head.

Was that how you pet cats? He had no idea how to pet an animal, since he’d never had one. Regardless of how many times he’d begged for one. Mom always said it would just create more work for Mrs. Mac, and it wouldn’t be fair to her.

Damian crawled up on the bed and knelt in front of Tim, then ran his own hand down Figaro’s back, letting his fingers all almost scratch Figaro as he did, creating big indents in her fur.

Tim tried to copy him, but he felt really awkward doing it. He didn’t want to hurt Figaro.

After Tim did that a couple times, he stopped, just in case the kitty hated it, but Figaro shifted and shoved her head up under his hand, like she were saying ‘keep going.’

So maybe she didn’t hate it.

“Do you miss your parents,” Damian asked, after they’d spent a minute or two petting the cat. It was weird how much better it made him feel, just holding a cat.

But now he was thinking about it again.

 _Did_ he miss his parents?

Yeah.

He _always_ missed his parents, though. Except when they were home, obviously, but that rarely was the case. So missing them was nothing new. He’d definitely never cry about it.

Damian wouldn’t understand him being upset about screwing everything up, though. He’d probably side with Bruce, thinking this was all Mom and Dad’s fault, and that it was a good thing Tim was staying with them now, instead of taking care of himself.

It _wasn’t_ a good thing, though.

Because Mom and Dad were mad and everyone would think they were bad and it was all Tim’s fault.

And now… now Tim was getting in the way of Batman and would make it so none of them could talk about Batman in front of him and if he told them he knew, they’d probably all freak out.

How would Bruce react to knowing he went out into Gotham, sometimes, to take pictures?

Not good.

If he didn’t like Tim spending the night in his nice, safe, Bristol mansion, he’d probably _freak_ _out_ about him wandering the streets of Gotham.

Even though Tim was always careful and safe and he hadn’t even been mugged _once._ That was something tons and _tons_ of people couldn’t say!

No one ever saw him. As soon as Tim got off the bus, he was just a shadow, completely invisible and unnoticeable.

Bruce wouldn’t care, though. He’d probably figure out _more_ laws Tim had broken.

Stalking, maybe. He’d say Tim was stalking.

Then he’d call the police on him, too, and everyone would think Mom and Dad raised a delinquent.

He realized Damian was still waiting for an answer, so he just nodded. Missing Mom and Dad was a safer reason to be crying, probably.

“Oh,” Damian said, sitting back from his kneeling position to copy Tim’s criss-cross posture, “I’m sorry. I always miss my dad when he goes on trips, too.”

Yeah. Probably everyone missed their parents when they were out of town. And Bruce went to places like _space._ Could Damian even call his dad when he was off in _space_ with the Justice League? Send him emails?

That would suck, not getting to talk to his parents at _all_ while they were away.

At least Mom and Dad emailed him once a week.

“It’s okay,” he eventually said, after Figaro had pushed up against his hand again. He’d quit petting her when he was thinking.

Tim tried to smile, a little, for Damian and asked, “What did you want to do?” Because maybe Damian wasn’t completely disgusted with him yet. He was still sitting there, after all.

Damian grinned brightly in response, and said, “Usually Saturday is movie or game night, but Dad and Jason can’t tonight so I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me anyway. Alfred said he’d make us popcorn, too, and maybe milkshakes if we ‘ask nicely.’”

Movie night?

That… that sounded really fun. He didn’t know real actual families _did_ that. He’d always thought that was a made up thing on TV, or something. A marketing scheme to sell more DVDs or a Netflix subscription.

It must have showed on his face how much he wanted to do that, because Damian somehow smiled wider and jumped up off the bed, “Well come on! Dick is supposed to get here soon, too, and I bet he’ll join us. You’re gonna love Dick, he’s the coolest.”

Tim froze.

 _Nightwing_ was coming over? He- he was going to meet _Nightwing??_

Obviously he _knew_ he would meet Dick eventually, if he spent four _months_ with the Waynes, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon?

“Dick is coming?” he managed to ask, somehow not sounding as dazed as he felt when he stumbled to his feet to follow Damian. Figaro acted completely comfortable cradled in his arms, despite how jerky Tim felt in his movements.

“Yeah,” Damian said, reaching out and grabbing Tim’s sleeve to pull him along, “He usually comes over after work on Saturday. I wished he still lived with us but he says the drive to work is too hard when he lives in Bristol, so he comes over every weekend instead. He’s a cop, you know.”

“Yeah,” Tim said numbly, allowing Damian to drag him all the way to the home theater. Where they were going to watch a movie and eat milkshakes with _Dick Grayson._

The coolest superhero on the planet.

Tim was absolutely sure, now. First Batman, and now Nightwing.

It was undoubtedly best day of his _life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend! I hope everyone is doing well! 
> 
> Tiny Tim breaks my heart. There's instances in canon where Jack Drake was emotionally abusive toward Tim, after Janet had already died. He had a super short temper, it seemed, and he was so quick to lash out at Tim. That's basically what I've based his characterization off of. Janet wasn't in canon much, I think, but this is how I imagine her. Mrs. Mac was kind of a jerk, too, although she also jumped back and forth from sweet to infuriating. So basically, Tim in general breaks my heart and I look forward to writing this story. He deserves love so much, and it kind of hurts how in canon he only got Bruce post-Jason's death. :( 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! I'll see you guys next week! :D (Or on Wednesday, if you're following Jason and the Three Terrors too!) ❤️


	9. Dick

Bruce was ridiculous.

When he’d texted Dick to warn him about the kid staying in the manor, Dick’s response had been ‘another one, seriously?’

Because. _Seriously?_

But Bruce had been quick to shoot back ‘no, not another one, not seriously,’ and explain that Tim Drake was the neighbor’s kid, and they were honestly just watching him while his parents were out of town.

Still. It was a little amusing how Bruce just could not help himself.

What was _not_ amusing was him blowing off family movie night. What was even the _point_ of having it on the calendar if Bruce could just decide willy nilly to skip it, just so he could have a training session with Jason? So what if he’d spent ‘the entire afternoon’ with Damian and Tim, Dick _liked_ family night. It was half the reason he even came over most Saturday evenings. 

At least it seemed like Alfred was pushing forward with movie night, anyway, because when Dick entered the Manor through the garage door, he could hear the blender going. Upon entering the kitchen, Dick could see that it was, in fact, milkshakes he was making.

“Ah, Master Dick,” Alfred said, once he’d turned the blender off, “Will you be joining the boys this evening?”

“Damian and the Drake kid?” he asked, grinning as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl on the counter. When Alfred nodded, Dick asked, “So what’s up with Bruce ditching us? Can’t he and Jason ‘play’ some other time?” 

“He claimed Master Jason had not had a session in several days.” 

“Since when has that been an excuse to ditch family night,” Dick said, looking at a piece of popcorn before tossing it in his mouth, “He used to get mad at me for ditching to train with the Titans.” 

“Hm,” Alfred hummed, as he started pouring the milkshakes into three glasses, “I imagine it had more to do with him wanting to get away than anything.” 

“Get away from me?” he said with a grin, “Rude.” 

Alfred leveled him a flat look and said, “You, of course, know that is not what I meant.” 

“Yeah, Alf, don’t worry.” Obviously he knew Bruce wouldn’t want to get away from _him._ Bruce still was not happy with him living in Gotham. Even _if_ he was just living in the penthouse of Wayne Tower, where Bruce had control of the security himself. Bruce was just _like_ that. 

Was the neighbor kid that annoying? Why would Bruce agree to watch him if he found the kid so unbearable one day with him sent him hiding in the cave? 

Alfred just smiled, and pulled the whip cream out to top each of the milkshakes. “I believe Master Damian is quite excited about the evening, regardless. He and our young guest have been getting along magnificently.” 

Dick nodded, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter next to Alfred. “That’s good. Kid could use a friend.” 

“Indeed,” Alfred said, placing their treats on a tray, “Perhaps that is the upside to this entire debacle.” 

“What’s up with that, by the way? Letting Tim stay here. Isn’t it a… bad idea, to bring a random civilian in?” 

Exactly how did Bruce think they would keep this secret from him? Tim wasn’t a three-year-old. Really, it wouldn’t take long to fit it all together, between the injuries, the random disappearances, and their nightly absences. 

“Perhaps,” Alfred said, “However, when has Master Bruce ever put his secrets above the wellbeing of a child?”

“True,” Dick supposed, “but he isn’t a starving to death homeless child. He’s our _neighbor.”_

Telling _Jason_ made sense. Probably wasn’t the smartest move on Bruce’s part, but that made _sense._ Jason would have starved to death had Bruce not intervened. Maybe. Tim _Drake,_ though? 

Rich, non-orphan neighbor kid. Not only that, but the heir of one of Bruce’s business competitors. 

This was just an overall, horrible, no good idea. 

“Perhaps,” Alfred said, lifting the tray of popcorn and milkshakes and bringing it over to Dick, “you should go meet Master Tim before you pass judgement.” 

Dick took the tray and grinned. “ _Master_ Tim?” They could not adopt Tim. He was not an orphan!

“Hush, lad,” Alfred said, smacking him lightly on the arm, “Now, bring those to the boys before they melt. I’m sure they are eager to begin the movie.”

“ _Master_ Tim,” Dick repeated, as he left the kitchen, “Kid’s been here a _day.”_

Dick definitely knew where Bruce got it from, now. 

But if Alfred liked him, then surely the kid wasn’t _too_ annoying. 

“Dick,” Damian shouted, the second he entered the home theater. But before Dick could say anything in response, Damian shifted his focus to what he was carrying, and shouted even louder, “Strawberry! My favorite!”

Tim, Dick assumed, was sitting in one of the chairs and absolutely shrank back when Dick’s eyes landed on him. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking like he could be the visual dictionary’s definition of ‘nervous.’ 

Dick didn’t have time to even say ‘hi’ before Damian was all up in his face, trying to snatch a milkshake off the tray. 

“Whoa,” he said, lifting the tray up and out of Damian’s reach, “sit down you little punk. Guest gets first pick.” 

“Oh,” Tim stammered, his eyes going wide when Dick walked over with the tray, “uh, it’s okay. He can pick first.” 

“Nope,” Dick said, lowering the tray so Tim could pick one, “He’s a brat and-“

“Hey,” Damian protested, not that Dick cared.

“-gets to pick last. Which one do you want? They’re all strawberry, the only real difference is cherry or no cherry.” Mostly because Damian didn’t like cherries, but Dick knew he would just pick it out and give it to him, if he ended up with a shake with a cherry in it. Especially with an older kid around to impress… Couldn’t go throwing tantrums in front of other kids, of course. 

Another upside to the ‘debacle.’

Tim shook his head and said, “I-I don’t care either way.” 

Anxiety was a thing ten-year-olds had, apparently. Dick was already starting to understand why Alfred had been so quick to adopt Tim…

“Do you like cherries, Tim?”

Instead of answer, Tim froze there for a good three seconds, staring wide eyed at the milkshakes before he finally nodded, a little jerkily. 

“Awesome,” he said, deciding to just ignore it as he grabbed the fullest looking glass of the two with cherries, “Then here you are.”

Damian bounced over and snatched the one without a cherry, then settled down in the chair next to Tim for the movie. 

“So, hi Tim. I’m Dick,” he said, as he placed the bowl of popcorn between the two kids so he could put the tray down, “Bruce told me about you.” 

“Hi,” Tim managed, “I’m- oh, uh,” before he laughed a little nervously and went quiet. 

Yep. Dick could see _exactly_ why Alfred adopted him and Bruce wanted to get away. He was cute, in a sad, needs-a-hug kind of way. 

“Want to watch Wall-E,” Damian asked, the remote already in his hand as he navigated to Wall-E. 

“Fine with me,” Dick said. When they both looked to Tim for an opinion, the kid just shrank down a little further and nodded. 

Right. 

One thing about family movie night at the Waynes: it never was spent _just_ watching the movie. In fact, the number of movies they’d ‘watched’ together, where none of them could fully remember _how_ it went was a little ridiculous. 

That movie night, though? They were apparently _actually_ watching the movie… Because no matter how hard Dick tried, he could not get Tim talking for longer than a minute at a time. 

“So Tim,” he tried, “you live next door, right?”

“Yes,” he said shortly. 

“Cool. Wish we’d known you sooner.” 

“I met Mr- uh, Bruce a couple years ago,” he said, a little uncertainly as he picked at his shirt’s hem, “At a gala.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling wide, “That’s cool. I _hate_ going to galas.” He’d _loved_ them when he was little, but they got _so boring_ the older he got. Being expected to behave like a Gotham Socialite was exhausting. 

All Tim did in response was nod, as he went back to staring at the movie screen. 

Dick tried again, a few minutes later, when he asked, “What do your parents do?”

“Uh,” Tim stammered again, “well. Mom’s an archaeologist and Dad runs Drake Industries. Well Mom does that, too, I guess…” 

“Archaeologist? That’s cool. Is that why they travel so much?”

Tim just nodded. 

“That’s cool. I travelled a lot when I was a kid, it was a lot of fun.” 

All Tim did was nod, again, picking at his shirt’s hem again. 

“Do you get to travel much?” he asked. Globetrotting with Bruce was always fun, the rare times they did that. Was probably awesome with parents who were _constantly_ traveling. 

But then Tim shook his head, and frowned, so Dick just said, “Well that’s too bad,” and let it drop. 

The rest of the movie passed in silence, except for when Damian slurped at the last few drops of his milkshake, and Dick had to tell him to knock it off. Once the movie was over, Tim was quick to excuse himself to go to bed, even though it was barely 9pm, and Alfred did not enforce bedtimes on Saturday nights. 

“He’s awfully quiet,” Dick observed, once Tim was gone and he was helping Damian straighten up the room. All they really had to do was put the remote back and pick up the dishes. 

Damian shrugged and said, “He’s just sad. He misses his mom and dad.” 

“Oh? Did he tell you that?” That wasn’t really _sadness_ Dick had seen, but perhaps. 

“Yeah. He was crying earlier, but it’s okay. Dad said we’re gonna make him feel more comfortable here.” 

“Speaking of Dad,” he said, wrapping an arm around Damian, the tray of dishes in his other arm to dump in the kitchen, “I’m going to go see what he and Jason are up to. I’ll see you in the morning.” He’d rather go talk to Bruce about Tim. 

“Okay,” Damian said, hugging him back tightly, “Good night. Tell Dad he has to tuck me in before he’s allowed to leave.” 

Laughing a little, Dick kissed the top of his head and said, “Sure thing, kiddo. Love you.” 

“I love you too,” Damian said, already bouncing out of the room, off to do who knew what. 

After he deposited the dishes in the sink and went to close and lock his bedroom door, so it would seem like he was just asleep in there, Dick made his way down into the cave. 

He’d been _expecting_ to see Bruce training Jason, like he said he would be doing. But instead what he found was Jason sitting at the batcomputer, reviewing security footage, while Bruce was in the training area, working on his punches. 

“What are you up to?” he asked Jason, deciding to let Bruce finishing working out whatever-the-hell he was doing. It was a little impressive he was working through anger right in front of Jason, though. 

“Bruce put out cameras to try and catch the assassin from last night,” Jason explained, as he sped through the footage of one camera. It looked like it was looking down at a knife sitting on a roof. 

Dick found it hard to believe someone as quick as the assailant from the night before would fall for a _trap_ like that. But perhaps they were only quick in movement. 

“Assassin?” he asked, putting an arm on the chair behind Jason as he watched the footage, too, “Kinda a strong term for someone with bad aim.” 

Jason shrugged and said, “Ninja? Ninja’s a cool term.” 

With a snort, Dick said, “He’s a bad guy, Jason. He doesn’t get a cool term.” 

“Oh so only good guys can have cool names? Why does _my_ name suck then?”

“Jaybird totally doesn’t suck, it’s so cute,” he said, grinning at how Jason outright _scowled_ at him for that comment. Jason smacked him when he ruffled his hair, too. 

“I hate you so much,” Jason said, in such a serious tone Dick had to laugh even harder. 

Bruce walked over then, absolutely drenched in sweat, as if he’d been at it for _hours._ He unwrapped his hands as he approached and nodded at Dick. Instead of, like, saying _hi._

“That because of that ball of anxiety upstairs,” Dick asked, pointing at Bruce’s hands when he started massaging them. Definitely at it for _hours._

All Bruce did was grunt as he turned to the screen to see what Jason was looking at. 

Jason scoffed and said, “It’s probably more cause that ball of anxiety got abandoned by his parents for four months and they _don’t care.”_

Dick froze, for just a second. No one had told him _that._ No one had even _mentioned_ that. “What do you mean, abandoned?” Dick could absolutely understand Tim not wanting to talk, now. 

“They went to Australia, Dick,” Jason exclaimed, jumping up to his knees on the chair, and turning to face him, “And didn’t hire a nanny or nothin’! Didn’t tell him, either. He had no idea until Bruce tracked down their assistant!” 

He turned to Bruce for confirmation, but he was met with a grim expression. 

“Wow. Okay,” he said slowly, thinking through it for a second. So Tim wasn’t ‘just the neighbor kid,’ but he _was_ still just a civilian. That they weren’t keeping. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Bruce sighed heavily, shooing Jason out of the computer chair with a wave of his hand. When Jason hopped up, he sat down and started flipping through the pieces of footage Jason had marked, and only _then_ did he answer. 

“He’s staying here until May, then I will ensure the Drakes hire appropriate care for him.”

“So,” Dick said, elongating the o before he continued, “he’s going to stay here. In the Manor. Above the cave. For four months.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, without hesitating.

Jason shrugged at him, from where he’d climbed up on the desk to sit. 

“And you think he’s not gonna figure out about all this?”

“I hope he doesn’t,” Bruce replied gruffly. 

“You _hope.”_

Bruce scowled as he paused on a frame, then nearly snapped, “He’s a child.”

“Yeah,” exasperated, “That kind of makes telling him _worse.”_ It was so much easier to get information out of children. So. Much. They had _no idea_ if they could even trust thiskid, either. 

“Bruce told me like seven seconds after he met me,” Jason said, smirking a little at how Bruce rolled his eyes at both of them, “and I didn’t go blabbing.”

Dick just scoffed. Because, again, Jason and Tim were not the same. At all. “Bruce decided you were his son ‘like seven seconds after he met you,’ so you don’t count. Tim’s not an orphan. He isn’t permanent.” 

“I know, Dick,” Bruce sighed.

“So….?” he prompted, because apparently Bruce wasn’t going to share his plan. His identity wasn’t just a _him_ secret, didn’t he realize that? If he got outed, Dick would also be outed, and maybe even Babs. 

“We’ll just have to be careful,” Bruce insisted, “but if he finds out, he finds out. He is a _massive_ superhero fan. It will probably be very easy to convince him to keep our identities a secret.”

Terrible plan. Truly _awful._ “That’s just what you _hope,”_ Dick scoffed, crossing his arms. Being a massive superhero fan could also work _against_ them. What if he was the kind of fan who went around telling _everyone_ about the time he met Batman and Nightwing? 

“Tim’s nice,” Jason said, “I think it’ll be fine, even if he finds out.” After a second, he mumbled, “S’not like he has anyone to tell, anyway.” 

“Jason,” Bruce admonished half-heartedly, rubbing at his face, “Look, Dick, chum. It will be _okay._ We’ll make it work.” 

“Mhm,” Dick just hummed.

“Nightwing is his favorite superhero, you know,” Bruce said, and Dick did _not_ miss the secret smile he was hiding under the grumpy exterior. 

Dick couldn’t help but smile anyway. “I know what you’re trying to do.” Buttering him up would _not_ work. 

Entirely. 

“Hm.”

“I still have concerns about this.”

Bruce sighed one more time and nodded. “I do, too, but that kid deserves better.” 

“They all do, Bruce.” And no matter how badly any of them wanted to, they couldn’t go saving every single child. Not this personally, at least. Not when it risked _everything._ If Batman and Nightwing got outed, there was no telling what the fallout would be. And if they weren’t able to continue with their work, then who would be there to help the _other_ children of Gotham? 

“That’s so dumb,” Jason said, twisting around from where he’d turned to face the screen. 

When Bruce didn’t bite, Dick asked, “What?” He immediately regretted it, though, when Jason grinned cheekily. 

“Why would _Nightwing_ be his favorite superhero in a universe with _Green Lantern?”_

Bruce immediately pointed to the cave stairs and said, “Jason Wayne go to bed,” while Dick just laughed. 

“No way, Pops,” Jason said, grinning wider now as he turned back toward the screen, “I’m helping you with this case. Look at clip fourteen, there was a weird moving shadow on it.” 

If Tim ended up being half as fun as Jason was to have around, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad having him around. And considering Alfred had already adopted him, it was like Tim _was._ Dick still wasn’t happy with the decision to have him in the Manor for so long, but he supposed they couldn’t pull the rug out from under him, either. 

Hopefully Bruce was right, and it’d all be okay. But Bruce really needed to think a little more the _next time_ he met a child in need. They really, honestly, could not keep doing this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick is the hardest character for me to write, I think that's why it took me so freaking long to write this chapter. 😂 But it's done, and now you've read it! So thanks for doing that. lol. I'll try to get my Animal Crossing habit a little more under control so next week will be on time. 😆
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and everything! Your sweet comments are always such an encouragement. Have a great week everyone! ❤️


	10. Bruce

Patrol that night started slow. Catwoman appeared by Batman’s side sometime during hour two, and somehow the night only dragged more after that.

Not that Selina’s company was the issue, it most certainly was _not._ There just seemed to be even less to do. None of the gangs were doing anything big, and all the petty crime wasn’t taking long to put an end to. In fact, three separate times, all Bruce had to do was jump down and the mugger or would-be-rapist surrendered. It’s like all of Gotham had heard everyone was out that night, and so all the criminals were taking a break.

Near midnight, Batman found himself meeting up with Nightwing and Batgirl. They and Catwoman had decided to use the slow night to look for more clues on his possible League of Assassins… assassin.

“ _I told you he was an assassin_ ,” Jason had shouted into the comms, when Batman voiced that possible connection to the group.

“You really think it’s the League,” Nightwing asked, frowning a little as they all searched the roof where Batman had first been attacked.

Batman knelt down to puck up the knife that had gone untouched since it had landed there the night before. “These knives are definitely League, if nothing else."

Nodding, Nightwing mused, “Probably unlikely some random thug acquired League of Assassins knives and then didn’t care they lost them…”

Batgirl hummed, then asked, “Yeah, but what is the point in simply throwing knives at you and then bolting?”

“ _To get his attention?_ ” Jason said.

“But why,” Catwoman added, “We haven’t heard from them in years.”

“I don’t know. I’ll call Superman tomorrow and warn him, though. It’s been years since we set up the security measures, can’t hurt to refresh them.”

He couldn’t figure out a logical reason why Talia would make a move to get Damian back now, after all these years. If she had thought he was already too soft to train at not-even-two, what the hell did she expect out of an eight year old?

Damian was a normal eight-year-old child. Happy. Healthy. A little naive, at times. Well versed in self-defense, but still. Bruce just didn’t see ‘assassin material’ in the boy.

Then again, Dick hadn’t started his training until he was nine, and he was one of the best fighters in the world now at eighteen.

Hopefully Talia hadn’t put that together…

“ _You mean the ‘measures’ we did a drill with like, four months ago?_ ” Jason asked, a little annoyance leaking through his voice.

Bruce might have woken the boys up at 4 in the morning one day, just to run an evacuation drill with them. Clark had participated, too, and Jason complained the _entire time_ Bruce quizzed him on where all the nearby zetas were, how to activate them, and which locations were safest for teleporting to, once activated.

“Yes, that’s part of them,” he said, resisting the smile that tugged at his lips when Jason groaned dramatically.

Jason had been most annoyed that they didn’t _actually_ zeta up to the Watchtower, especially when Bruce explained Wonder Woman and Red Tornado had been on monitor duty, the latter not knowing Batman’s identity. He hadn’t _cared_ if it ruined anything, Batman bringing his kids randomly up to the Watchtower around people who didn’t even know he _had_ kids. He wanted to meet Wonder Woman.

He still needed to get Jason up there at some point. The right opportunity just hadn’t presented itself, yet. There were so many members of the Justice League, it was difficult to find a time where he could bring his kids up there without running into someone who didn’t _know._

“Speaking of children,” Nightwing said, grinning mischievously as he pushed himself up onto the roof’s wall, “Catwoman, you will not _believe_ what Batman has done now.”

“Adopted another kid,” Catwoman answered, smirking at the way Bruce _sighed._

One. This was not an appropriate topic for while on patrol.

Two. He had _not adopted another kid._

And Three: He. Had. Not. Adopted. Another. Kid.

“Of course he told you,” Nightwing whined, earning himself a soft chuckle over the comms from Jason.

“I did _not,”_ Bruce protested, before Batgirl could even open her mouth to ask.

“Shush, Bats,” Catwoman said, wrapping her arms around Bruce’s waist, where he was standing, looking out at the roof where the assassin had escaped the night before.

Batgirl laughed, a short quiet little laugh, before she asked, “Where do you keep finding more children?”

“I’m _not_ adopting him,” he protested, tucking the knife into his belt, ready to just clean up and go home. Or the other side of the city, without any of them, and patrol alone.

“That’s what you always say,” Catwoman teased, making Bruce decide he was definitely going to patrol alone.

But then Jason cut in with a very serious, “ _Batman, there’s movement on the camera_ ,” causing Batman to spin around and look behind him. Because the camera he assumed Jason was talking about was the surveillance one he still hadn’t taken down, which was just a few feet in front of him. He hadn’t given Jason access to any of their mask cams.

Almost as soon as he turned around, Batman had to duck a knife hurling toward him. The knife hit the air conditioner behind him, clanging as it clattered to the ground. Two more knives quickly followed, and the four of them scattered.

This time, Batman wasted no time hopping roofs to try and find the assailant. No more knives came, but he also didn’t see any movement.

Not that he could see much. The moon was not out, and there was very little ambient light as high up as they were.

“This roof’s clear,” Nightwing whispered into his comm, from one roof to Batman’s right. Catwoman was still on the original roof, while Batgirl had taken the roof to Batman’s left. Although he was _certain_ the knives had come from _his_ roof.

Batman switched his cowl to heat signature and redid his search of the roof. He looked behind the various partitions, which split the roof up as property between several people, inside the stairwell, and even inside the shed someone had up there.

Nothing.

So he looked on toward the next roof. If this person really was from the League of Assassins, it wasn’t too out of the question that they had thrown a couple knives so far.

It would most certainly explain their lack of accuracy. Or… well, _slight_ lack of accuracy. The knife would have hit him, had he not ducked.

“ _What’s happening_ ,” Jason asked, as Bruce started scanning the next roof. They could explain it to him in a minute.

“ _Nothing,_ ” Nightwing said, anyway, as Bruce jumped roofs. There was _something._ A blob of red with a dash of white, on an otherwise blue background. It was…. too small to be a person, though.

Unless they were curled up?

He flipped off his thermal imaging view and looked again, and all he saw was a rooftop garden, about 20 yards ahead of him. A hydrangea bush, specifically, in a large planter, surrounded by several smaller pots.

After halving the distance, he flipped back to thermal, and was immediately thrown off by the _lack of heat signature._ Looking around frantically, he saw it, dashing towards the edge of the roof, off to the right.

“Nightwing, headed your way,” he said into his comm, running after the person.

The…. Very tiny person.

“I see him,” Nightwing said, as he jumped roofs to be on the same roof as the assailant, “or, her. I think.”

“ _Her?_ ” Jason asked, then snapped, “ _This doesn’t sound like_ nothing _.”_

Batman ignored him, flipping his comm to input only. Jason was only _distracitng_ him at that point.

He jumped roofs just in time to see Batgirl join Nightwing, the three of them now covering three of the four sides of the roof. _Almost_ blocking the girl, because yes, she was definitely a girl, from jumping off.

And she really was _just_ a girl. Clad all in black, the only part of her visible her eyes and chin-length black hair. She stood in the middle of the roof, frantically looking between the three of them as she stepped backward, toward the unguarded roof.

If Catwoman could get to that roof soon, that’d be great, Batman thought bitterly. He didn’t understand why sometimes she involved herself in his cases, and other times she just tagged along and watched.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Nightwing said, holding his hands up to his side as he tried taking a step towards the girl, “So why don’t you tell us why you’re throwing knives at us?”

 _Finally,_ Catwoman hoisted herself up on the edge of the roof, then just perched there, effectively trapping the little girl.

She seemed to realize it almost instantly, despite Selina being silent in her approach, because she spun around and stared at Catwoman, her eyes widening a little more.

“We really aren’t going to hurt you, kitten,” Catwoman said, smiling a little as she just sat there, obviously trying to look as non-threatening as she could.

The little girl did not seem to buy it one bit, because a knife materialized in each of her hands, and she looked between the four of them frantically.

“Hey,” Bruce said, trying to soften his voice as much as he could without dropping out of his gravel, “Put your knives down, we really will _not_ hurt you.”

One more step forward on Batman’s part, echoed by Nightwing on the other side, seemed to be all the girl could take, because in that moment, she spun toward Batgirl while throwing both her knives out in either direction, one toward Bruce, the other toward Nightwing.

Bruce dodged his knife in a quick roll, while Nightwing jumped up out of it’s path.

The little girl tried to make a dash for it, running right at Batgirl as she did, but Batman ended his roll with a dive, and he grabbed her, tackling her to the ground as he trapped her in a bear hug.

She didn’t even grunt. Just tensed up in his arms and started thrashing for her freedom. It was when she was in his arms, though, did it truly sink in.

This was a _little_ girl.

Like. Ten-years-old.

Why was a _child_ stalking him? Throwing knives at him?

And more importantly, why was a _child_ associated with the _League of Assassins?_

Carrying out a _mission_ for the League of Assassins?

Batman tried his best to latch onto her wrists, to fully subdue her, but the little girl was _good._ She growled at him, and kept with her struggling. Even though Bruce was on his knees, now, she was managing to make him nearly lose balance.

“Calm down,” he tried, managing to get his hand around one of her wrists, as he struggled to catch the other, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Nightwing approached, then, and Bruce held up a finger, signaling for him, and Batgirl and Catwoman, whom he knew was on either side of him, only about five feet away each, to all stay back.

The girl kicked at him, trying her best to get at one of his sensitive spots. Too bad for her, his armor was specially designed to prevent that kind of thing. When she realized none of that was working, she growled and bit down on his forearm, clearly as hard as she possibly could.

“Okay,” he said, loosening his hold and letting her get out of it, although he did not release her wrist from his hand, “look, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She snatched at her arm, her free hand curling around two of his fingers as she tried to pry them off her.

Bruce got a chance to really examine her face, then, while she was fighting to free her wrist. All he could see were her eyes, but even so her face was extremely expressive. The pinch above her nose told him she was angry, but the slightly wide open eyes told him she was _scared._

Had she ever been caught before?

What had happened to her in the past, when she was?

That thought made him feel a little sick. Why the _fuck_ was the League using a _child?_

Although, if Talia had wanted to throw him off his game, she’d succeeded. Because he couldn’t find it in himself to fight a literal baby, no matter how many times she tried to stab him.

“Look,” he said again, slowly loosening his grip as he pulled his hand away from her, “It’s okay. Let’s just talk, okay? I can help you.” Whatever the League was doing to her. Whatever they held over her, he’d fix it.

She took a step back, and startled when she ran right into Nightwing, spinning around to try and get all of them in front of her. Dick stepped aside, allowing her to do so, as she turned back to look at Bruce.

When she did, she outright froze, and just stared at him.

Bruce held his hands out, letting his palms face her, in hopes of calming her down completely. She cocked her head at him, and stared at his hands for a solid five seconds, before she slowly looked at everyone else in the group.

Everyone else held their hands similarly, while Batgirl said, “See, no one wants to hurt you.”

The girl looked back at Batgirl, for just a second, before she took a step backward. Slowly. Tentatively, like she was testing the waters to see if they’d attack her again.

When no one did anything, she took another step. Then another.

“Let her go,” Batman whispered, hoping the comms would convey the message to them, without the little girl hearing him.

She’d found him two nights in a row, he had no doubt they’d see her again.

Especially if she was on a mission for the League.

He just hoped she wouldn’t be punished for this failure tonight…

The girl reached the edge of the roof, still staring at all of them as she climbed up the wall. With only a quick glance to what was below her, she dropped over the edge, completely vanishing from their sight.

Bruce had no intention to follow her.

He flipped his comm back on just in time to heard Jason say, “ _So, you just let her go_. _Assassin tries to kill you, and you let her go_.”

“We need to figure out if she’s connected to the League, and if so, _how,”_ Batman said, sighing as he got to his feet.

“Jaybird, you should have seen her,” Nightwing said, frowning as he walked over to where she’d jumped down to look over the edge of the roof, “She’s like eleven.”

“We need to figure out what language she speaks,” Batgirl said, joining Nightwing at the edge of the roof, “Because it’s clearly not English.”

He hadn’t even picked up on that, but thinking back, she _hadn’t_ responded to a single word any of them said. It wasn’t until he let go of her and they all held their hands up in surrender did she relax.

That was definitely something he was going to review in detail, back at the cave. Maybe even put Jason on reviewing all the mask footage of the incident, to get his perspective.

“ _Okay,”_ Jason said a little tersely, “ _So she’s a little child. She still tried to_ kill _you.”_

“She hasn’t tried to kill anyone,” Batman said tiredly. Throwing knives around and nicking him just a _little_ the night before was not an attempt on his life.

“ _She literally stabbed you_ yesterday,” Jason shot back, and this time Nightwing responded.

“Jaybird, it was _fine.”_

“ _Which way did she go_ ,” Jason grit out, his clenched jaw audible even over the comms, “ _I will track her_.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jaybird,” he said, because the girl was long gone by then, anyway. And the last thing Bruce wanted was Jason worrying about an ‘assassin’ on the loose, trying to kill him. It really was nothing to worry about.

“ _She’s an assassin,_ ” Jason started, indignantly, before he cut himself off with a frustrated growl and said, “ _Fine, whatever. Deal with your case on your own._ ” With that, the clattering of Jason’s headset on the desk could be heard over the comms, creating a painful static for a second before the system corrected it.

“Batman,” Selina practically _chastised,_ making Bruce stiffen a little.

It wasn’t often she got mad at him.

Why _was_ she mad at him? What had he _done?_

“Okay,” Nightwing said slowly, still standing on the edge of the roof with Batgirl, “Well. I’m going to go patrol some more. So, uh. Bye.” With a quick wave, he jumped off the edge of the building, quickly followed by Batgirl, who offered a similar awkward wave before she, too, jumped off the roof.

Cowards, Bruce thought, as he turned to Selina to hear whatever lecture he was about to get.

“You really do need to trust him more,” she said, putting all her weight on one leg, as she put her arm on her hip.

“Who?” Dick? He trusted Dick with his life. He wasn’t sure there was a possible way he could trust Dick _more._

“Jaybird.”

He trusted Jason, too. He was still little, but when got to be Dick’s age, Bruce was sure he’d trust Jason just as much as he trusted Dick. It was a different relationship, between him and a child and him and an adult.

“I do trust him.”

“No,” she exasperated, “You baby him.”

“He’s _thirteen,”_ he tried, but he could already see her argument there. Dick had been _nine._ He was tired of people reminding him about how Dick had been _nine._ Maybe he should have babied Dick more.

“That’s not really the issue,” she said, instead, “the issue is, you let him run comms, but then you _don’t trust him.”_

Bruce had nothing to say to that. He didn’t _want_ Jason on the comms. He’d come so close to banning Jason from them so many times, because he didn’t want Jason in _this_ world. But Jason seemed so fascinated by so much of the work. It was difficult to tell him ‘no’ when he showed interest in specific cases, and even volunteered to do the more mind numbing work, like sifting through surveillance video in hopes of getting a single frame of a person’s face.

Jason always looked so excited when he found something, and often had insightful things to say. Especially when they were talking about Crime Alley.

The kid _really_ knew Crime Alley, inside and out.

“Look,” Selina said, walking over to put a hand on his arm, “You need to trust he can handle it. He’ll tell you if he can’t.”

“No, he won’t.” Because Jason most certainly wouldn’t. Jason never said when something was too much. They’d binged a docuseries about gangs one day, months back, that was a tad graphic in their dramatizations, and Jason had had nightmares about it for _weeks_ afterwards. Not once during the show had he said a single word about how it bothered him. It wasn’t until he was crying about it, three weeks later, had he told Bruce he’d not wanted to watch it at all.

Bruce hadn’t even required his attendance. He’d just _been_ there.

“So either ban him from running the comms at all, or let him _actually_ run comms.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond, instead giving him a quick kiss on his cheek before she ran off toward the edge of the building in leapt off. Off to who knew where.

He had a lot to think about, anyway.

Most pressing was the fact that a _little girl_ was throwing knives at him on orders of the League of Assassins. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about that one. Contact Talia? What would he even say? “I know you don’t have our son there, but are there _other_ children??” Where had they even been, way back when Bruce was there? He hadn’t seen _any_ children.

Did this little girl belong to someone there? Or was she someone they kidnapped and trained?

And, as Batgirl pointed out, what language did she speak? There were a handful of options he could think of, just off the top of his head. The League spoke many languages. Arabic was most likely, because of Ra’s. But their members were diverse, and Bruce had heard a number of languages spoken amongst the ranks.

Next time he saw her, he’d have to sift through the list of languages he knew, in hopes she’d respond to one of them. Maybe Jason could help him with that one, too. Jason, as it turned out, was a treasure trove of languages. The kid soaked them up like a _sponge._

Maybe… maybe when he got home, he’d go see if Jason was still awake. If so… perhaps he could teach the boy how to view cowl footage.

They’d just have to be prepared for the fallout, should there be any. But Selina was right. He needed to quit with this one foot in, one foot out approach he was taking with Jason.

He hoped it didn’t lead to the boy wanting to go _out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sleep schedule is jacked. I woke up at like 1:30pm and didn't force myself to do anything more than watch Netflix from bed until like 3, so this is practically not late cause it's still Sunday afternoon for me, even if it's 12:30am on Monday. That's how time works now on day 72 of lockdown. 
> 
> I hope everyone has a great Memorial Day! Even though, at least for those of us in crazy states, it's gonna look no different than every other day. Can't even appreciate that I get the day off. Boo. Maybe by the time the 4th rolls around it'll be business as usual.... 
> 
> ANyway. Thanks for reading and commenting. <3 you guys!


	11. Bruce

Bruce wasn’t going to deal with it.

Really, he wasn’t.

He’d managed to push Selina’s… _scolding,_ out of his mind after he’d gone home. Gone back to the cave and spent an hour trying to track down the little girl.

What was a child even _doing_ with the League? More than anything, that was the question he wanted answered.

It was abuse. It was absolutely, 100%, abuse. To train a child up like that. Send her out on missions. Send her after _Batman,_ of all people. Obviously, they probably knew Bruce wouldn’t hurt her, but it was still _stupid._ What if he’d hit her with his batarangs? What if he _had_ hurt her, before he realized she was a little girl?

Would Damian have ended up like her, had he let Talia keep him? Had she never brought Damian to Gotham in the first place?

That thought alone sent Bruce on up into the house.

Damian was right where he belonged, of course. In bed, fast asleep where Bruce had tucked him in before patrol. Figaro was curled up at his side and Ace was over his legs. Ace actually lifted his head, when the door cracked open, but quickly dismissed Bruce’s presence and snugged back down. No one was getting into Damian’s room without Bruce knowing.

Out in the hall, the light from Jason’s room made Bruce pause.

He _wasn’t_ going to deal with it.

Except…

Jason’t hadn’t even closed his door. Not fully. And the light on meant he was still up. Still up and probably reading. Jason _never_ stayed up late to read. Not unless he was upset about something and trying to distract himself.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his head against the wall between Damian and Jason’s room. He _had_ to deal with it, didn’t he?

Curse Selina. If they weren’t already broken up, he was going to break up with her over this.

….No he wouldn’t.

“Jay,” he said, softly as he knocked at Jason’s cracked door. It creaked open further when he did, allowing Bruce to see Jason scowling down at his book, half way under the covers but still sitting up. “Are you still awake?”

“No,” Jason said, turning the page, not even looking up.

With a sigh, Bruce pushed the door fully open and walked in. When he sat down on the edge of Jason’s bed, Jason pulled the covers up over his head, rolling over so his book still had some light, but he was completely blocked from Bruce.

Bruce sighed again, and sat back against the headboard, pulling his legs up onto the bed to sit fully beside Jason. He waited a few seconds, for Jason to make it to the next page. To see if he’d say anything himself. But he didn’t. So Bruce said, “I don’t like that you’re getting more involved with the Batman stuff.”

“Why?” Jason demanded, throwing the blanket off himself to face Bruce, “Cause I suck? I’d be _better_ if you let me fucking _help.”_

 _“_ I let you help,” he said, even though he knew it was a lie.

“Yeah,” Jason scoffed, “only when the case is boring. Once anything interesting happens you’re all like ‘oh Jay it’s no big deal. Go to _bed,_ Jay.’ You _suck,_ Bruce _._ ”

Crossing his arms, Bruce nodded absently. He’d never fully considered what it looked like, from Jason’s point of view. He just _hated_ how panicked Jason sounded, sometimes, when Bruce got injured. He’d do anything to shield Jason from that kind of fear.

“I don’t want to worry you.”

Jason rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, too. “Newsflash Bruce, I’m gonna worry no matter how _involved_ I get.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, resting his head back to look up at the ceiling, “That’s not what I want for you. I want you to have a happy, safe, carefree childhood.” That’s what Jason deserved. He’d been through _way too much._ Far too much for how young he was. The last thing Bruce wanted was to add to that trauma.

“It’s too late for that,” Jason mumbled. He probably thought he wasn’t loud enough for Bruce to hear, but he _was._ “Bruce,” he protested, when Bruce wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him close.

Bruce ignored him, wrapping his other arm around him. “Why do you want to help on cases? You have nightmares when we watch true crime things. You avoid that genre of books like the plague.” Bruce did not understand at _all_ why Jason would willingly subject himself to something he knew he hated. Especially when it was so personal.

“You aren’t supposed to make fun of my fears,” Jason mumbled, slumping a little in Bruce’s hold.

“I’m not, Jay. I’m just pointing out that helping with cases, truly running the comms, all that is dealing with _true_ crime. If you can’t handle it in media, why do you think you can handle it in real life?”

At least documentaries happened to _other_ people. Much easier to dismiss when the crime was an abstract concept, not a direct threat.

Cases… cases _involved_ them, quite often. Like with this whole assassin-little-girl thing.

“Bruce,” Jason said, pushing Bruce’s arms off himself, “I’ve dealt with ‘true crime’ my _entire life._ At least… at least when I’m working with you, I can do something about it.”

With a sigh, Bruce leaned back, staring up at the ceiling again as he listened to Jason finish his plea.

“I can help _stop_ it. I don’t have nightmares about the cases. I know you and Nightwing and Batgirl and everyone puts an end to the crime, and you keep people from _suffering_ the way victims in all those shows suffered. That… that’s what I want to do, too. Because… I got to escape. And so many other kids didn’t.”

By the end of Jason’s little speech, Bruce had looked down at him to see the absolute determination in his eyes. The fierce conviction there, like Jason truly believed this was something he _had_ to do.

Dick had talked him into being Robin in the exact same way.

Why couldn’t his kids wait until they were adults to try and help the world?

“You’re a good kid, you know that?” he asked, wrapping an arm back around Jason.

“S’not like it matters,” Jason muttered into his side, leaning into the hug this time.

“Listen, I-” he started. He still wasn’t _happy_ about all this, but if Jason were truly determined…. “You know how I feel about you kids going out on the streets.”

“I’m not asking to go _out,_ Bruce,” Jason was quick to cut in, “I- I don’t know if I could even handle _that._ I just want you to stop saying ‘don’t worry about it, Jay,’ after I’ve spent ten fucking hours sifting through surveillance footage for your case.”

Yeah. That _was_ pretty shitty of him, wasn’t it? “Okay,” he agreed.

Jason sat up and gave Bruce a quizzical look. “Okay?”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Jason asked slowly, like he thought this were a trap. A trick.

Didn’t Jason know him better than that? He’d never try and trick him.

“If it’s too much, you stop. You take a break, walk away, find Alfred. I don’t care what you do, but you _stop.”_

Sitting up, Jason nodded eagerly, “I can do that.”

“Okay. Then tomorrow, your real training starts.”

A slow smile over took Jason’s skepticism, as he asked “Really?” in such an excited, hopeful tone, it made Bruce smile, too.

He still wasn’t fully _happy_ about this, but he would give it a shot. Maybe Selina was right, and it’d all be fine.

“Yep,” he said, as he stood and pat Jason on the knee, “No whining about the homework load, got it?”

Somehow, that made Jason grin wider as he asked, “There’s homework?”

Laughing, Bruce pulled the covers back and waited for Jason to crawl under them. Once he did, Bruce tucked Jason in and gave him a good-night kiss. Not something he’d done very much at all, considering Jason’s age. He was most certainly _too cool_ for that sort of attention, but tonight he kept smiling, anyway.

“I love how big of a nerd you are,” Bruce finally said, taking Jason’s book and putting his bookmark in it before he cut off the lamp.

“I’m not a nerd,” Jason protested, but it was lighthearted. Jason _was_ a nerd, and that was fine.

It was part of the reason he fit in so well with the family.

“Good night, Jay. I love you.”

“Night, Bruce,” Jason said, as Bruce shut the door. Tomorrow, he’d have to pull together a course of study for Jason.

Shouldn’t be too difficult. He’d pull up his notes from Dick’s original training. They could probably start with basic criminology, and let Jason lead from there, based on his questions and observations. He’d also need a better introduction on everything he can do cave-side to help with the mission.

It’d actually be incredibly helpful to bring him up to speed on DNA and fingerprint analysis.

As long as Jason could handle it, Bruce would teach him.

The door right across the hall from Jason’s was the guest room they had Tim set up in. Was… Tim’s room, he supposed. The sight of it just reminded him he had _so_ many more problems than he could probably handle.

Maybe Jason’s full help on the assassin-child case would help alleviate that some…

\- - -

Bruce barely got up in time for breakfast. Even though it was at 9:30, he still had a hard time making himself wake up. All he wanted to do was sleep _more,_ but he did eventually roll out of bed, and only brushed his teeth before stumbling downstairs.

It was Sunday. Who cared if he were a mess?

Tim Drake, his mind reminded him, when he got his mug of coffee from Alfred and took it to the dining room. Because Tim Drake was staying with them. His morning brain needed to be better, he thought, as he brushed passed the boys, all four of them, and sat at the head of the table.

Forgetting about the kid so many times was unacceptable.

“Mornin’,” Dick said, through a mouthful of eggs. Bruce shot him a look, and he finished his bite before adding, “You look… rested.”

“I need a nap,” Bruce groaned, resisting the urge to rest his head on his mug and go back to sleep.

“Come now, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, as he walked in with Bruce’s breakfast and extra glasses of juice for the kids, “None of that. You promised the young masters a trip to the mall today.”

“I did?” He didn’t remember that.

“Yeah,” Damian exclaimed, “You said we could go to the toy store for the new Star Wars lego set.”

“Hrn,” Bruce groaned. He probably did say that, to bribe Damian into behaving. Why couldn’t he just order it online?

“Fine. Tim,” he said, finally turning his attention to the little boy picking at his breakfast, trying his best to sink into his chair and hide, “Would you like to come with us?”

Tim shook his head quickly, his eyes focused squarely on his plate of barely touched food, “No. I’m okay.”

“Aw, come on, Tim,” Jason whined, from where he was sitting directly across the table from Tim, “It’ll be fun. We always get frozen yogurt and go to the bookstore while we’re there.”

“I bet we could even bully Bruce into getting us BatBurger,” Dick said, sitting right next to Tim.

They most certainly could _not_ bully him into that. He refused to step into that vile establishment.

Tim shrank down more, but did smirk a little. “I like their jokerized fries.”

“Right?” Dick exclaimed, “They’re _awesome.”_

 _“_ Their names are in poor taste,” Bruce grumbled, as he started eating his breakfast. He had a feeling he was going to end up at _Bat Burger_ for lunch, regardless of his protestations.

Why did he let his kids run this house like a democracy?

Alfred reappeared with the pot of coffee, and refilled his and Dick’s mugs as he said, “Perhaps you can get Master Tim some things to make his room feel more homely,”

Tim opened his mouth, mostly likely to protest his lack of need for _anything,_ so Bruce cut him off before he could even start with, “Okay. Once you all are done eating, go get ready.”

“But-“ Tim tried, but Dick stood up to bring his empty dishes to the kitchen, and ruffled Tim’s hair as he passed.

“No buts, Tim. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

So flustered by Dick’s tousle, Tim stuttered something completely incoherent, but did finally manage a simple, “Okay.”

“Great,” Bruce said, as he finished eating up his own breakfast, “Perfect. I’ll be ready in about 20 minutes.”

\- - -

It was Dick’s presence, Bruce realized about a couple hours later, after they’d all made it to the mall and been through a few stores. Dick’s presence was what was _really_ flustering Tim.

The kid had relaxed around Bruce quite significantly the day before, and it wasn’t until Dick ran off with Damian, off to the game store without the rest of them did Tim relax again. He’d barely said three words since breakfast, but as soon as Dick was gone, he opened right back up.

Bruce tried not to think too hard about it, and what it meant that adults kept freaking him out.

“Do you have a favorite author?” Jason asked Tim, as they wandered into Jason’s favorite bookstore.

Tim shook his head and said, “I don’t really read books.”

“What?” Jason shrieked, “That’s the saddest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Jay,” Bruce started to admonish, but Tim grinned.

“I read comics, mostly,” he admitted, his hands in his jacket pockets as he easily walked alongside Bruce and Jason, “And, like, the news and stuff.”

“The news is lame dude,” Jason scoffed, but abruptly changed course from the science fiction section, which Bruce knew was always Jason’s first stop, and led them to the manga and comics section, “But they have comics here, see.”

Tim nodded, but made no move to even browse, so Bruce said, “Pick a few out, son. We don’t have any comics in the library, so this’ll give you something to read.”

“Oh,” Tim said, but Bruce cut him off before he could even start.

“I will not listen to a single protest about not needing it. Pick at least three out.”

“I’m-“ Tim started, then frowned, looking incredibly conflicted, before he finally nodded and said, “Okay.”

If _ordering_ Tim to do something was all it took….

Tim didn’t look very hard to pick three, exactly three, out, but Bruce wasn’t going to fight him on it. Maybe by the end of the four months they’d have him convinced he was allowed to want things. It had taken Jason some time to get used to it, after all.

Then again, Jason had come from extreme poverty…. Tim had not.

Bruce needed to sit down and write up everything he was learning about Tim. If he did end up going to Social Services about all this, anyway, he’d need the evidence…

Jason and Tim got to chatting about some of Jason’s favorite authors, which quickly shifted to favorite movies, and it turned out Tim was much more versed in that medium. Jason loved science-fiction books, and, as it turned out, Tim loved science fiction movies and tv shows. Then went on for twenty minutes about favorite tropes, Tim becoming more talkative with every question.

Bruce stayed in the background, simply following the boys around and pulling his credit card out when necessary to purchase the haul of books they’d picked out. Or… Mostly Jason had picked out.

“I’ve never watched Star Trek,” Jason admitted, as they were leaving the bookstore. It was nearing lunch time and they needed to find the other boys. The three of them were walking in a line, Tim between him and Jason.

“What?” Tim shrieked, much in the same way Jason had not that long ago, “That’s—that’s blasphemy!”

“What’s blasphemy?” Dick asked, jumping up from behind them, making both Jason and Tim jump. Hard. “Is he talking about putting mustard on his french fries, because that _is_ blasphemy.”

“He-“ Tim tried, but Bruce watched in slow motion as Tim completely closed in on himself, again. From happy, chatty, _expressive_ Tim to timid Tim in less than five seconds.

It made Bruce set a hand on Tim’s shoulder and massage it, a little, as they kept walking. He tensed up, but didn’t pull away, so Bruce kept it up.

Maybe Bruce would get Dick to spend some one-on-one time with Tim next weekend. He wanted Tim comfortable with the _entire_ family.

Would his shut downs happen around Selina, too? Barbara? Clark? Maybe he could get Tim comfortable enough to _talk_ about it. Talk about why it was happening, what was going through his head when he did.

Bruce almost snorted at himself for that thought. There was _no way_ he’d manage that in four months.

“I’ve never seen Star Trek,” Jason said, after hesitating for a minute. _Everyone_ had noticed Tim’s withdraw.

“Yes you have,” Damian said as he skipped to Bruce’s other side, “We watched it last year.”

“He meant the TV show, brat,” Jason said.

“Names, Jay,” Bruce hummed, earning himself an eyeroll from Jason.

“I don’t think I’ve seen that, either,” Dick added, “Maybe we should watch a couple episodes this afternoon.”

 _Perfect_ , Bruce thought. He knew the boys had watched a movie together the night before, but it’d been a long day for Tim. Maybe he’d get more comfortable watching one of his favorite shows, on a day that _hadn’t_ been rough.

“We can pick up some pizzas and eat it while we watch,” Bruce said, leading the kids toward the mall exit.

“Nice try,” Dick said, grabbing Damian and Bruce’s arms and pulling them back toward the food court, “But we’re doing Bat Burger.”

With a sigh, Bruce let himself be dragged for a few steps before Dick let go. “Fine,” he grumbled, “Just this once.”

Bruce turned to make sure Jason and Tim were following, and the little smile Tim was trying to conceal almost made the trip worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. That took longer than expected. 😂 Hope y'all enjoyed it! Thanks so much for reading and commenting. ❤️❤️❤️❤️


	12. Tim

Tim wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

No matter how he tried, he could not get himself to talk properly to Dick Grayson.

They probably all thought he was a freak. Dick probably thought he was a freak. Tim _was_ a freak. He couldn’t hold it together for five seconds to talk to Dick Grayson.

Although….

It was _Dick Grayson_. Nightwing. The saying was ‘don’t meet your heroes,’ but so far, Dick had lived up to all his expectations. And more.

Never had he planned on actually approaching any of the bats. Meeting any of them. Sure, he went to school with Damian and Jason, but _never_ was he going to actually _talk to them._ There was no reason to.

Now that he had, though?

They had exceeded his expectations.

Dick was super nice. Really, all the Waynes were. He was still a little dazed by the fact he was staying….with the Waynes… for a while.

It definitely wasn’t a bad thing.

Tim spent most the afternoon with Jason watching Star Trek. Everyone else had watched the first couple episodes with them, but eventually excused themselves for one reason or another.

Jason seemed to be enjoying the show, though, because he kept hitting ‘next episode’ every time one finished without hesitation. They talked some during the afternoon, but not much.

For the most part they just enjoyed the show, right up until Bruce came back and cut the television off.

“Aw, come on, Bruce,” Jason grumbled when Bruce said they’d watched enough for the day, “I never watch TV, one day won’t kill me.”

“You,” Bruce said pointedly as he dropped a textbook into Jason’s lap, “have homework, remember?”

Jason perked up when he looked down at the book, then opened it up and read something on a handwritten note before he hurried out of the room. Tim tried to see what the book was when Jason left the room, but all he could see was the back of the textbook. Whatever it was looked college level, though, not middle school level. It was far less ‘fun’ looking in design, like all their textbooks at Gotham Academy.

“Tim, why don’t you go get your homework and bring it to the living room.”

Blinking, Tim shifted his attention to Bruce, who was standing behind the couch, looking at him expectantly.

“I finished my homework last night,” he said slowly. Because he had. When he ‘went to bed.’ He’d spent an hour finishing everything up, since it had been too early to go to sleep.

Actually, Tim hadn’t gone to sleep for about six hours after he retired to ‘his’ room.

“Great,” Bruce said, turning to leave the room, “then you can bring it to the living room.”

Bruce left before Tim could ask _why._ His homework was _done._ What was the point in getting it back out again?

He did as asked, though, and retrieved his homework folder from his backpack.

In the living room, Damian was sitting next to Bruce while the two of them went through his homework.

“Hey Tim,” Bruce said when he noticed Tim standing in the doorway, “Come on in. I’ll look over yours once I’m done with Damian’s.”

_Look over it?_

“That’s okay,” he said slowly, “you don’t have to do that.” His homework was really, seriously fine. He’d already finished it. Understood everything. No need for Bruce to _look over it._

“Did you actually do it, Tim?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” he said indignantly. Because he _had._ Why was Bruce questioning it? He wasn’t a _liar._

When it was unimportant….

And lying about homework was definitely unimportant.

“Then let me look at it. It’s school policy that guardians sign off on homework each night.”

Oh.

_That._

Tim looked down at his homework folder’s signature page and tried not to cringe. Because…. he might have already… maybe signed it. Like he always did once he finished his homework.

“And I had to do a book report,” Damian said, once Bruce finished looking at his math worksheet.

Bruce took the little book report sheet Damian offered him and looked at it. Tim remembered those from 3rd grade. They were basically worksheets that asked for the plot, setting, and characters.

“I told you, Damian, you have to read a book by yourself for these.”

Damian scowled and protested, “I _did_ read it by myself. I checked it out from the library at school and everything.”

Sighing, Bruce put the worksheet into Damian’s folder and signed it. “Okay, but next time you have to read a _new_ book by yourself, okay?”

How would Damian read a book otherwise? Tim thought. Did Bruce still read to him? Wasn’t he too old for that?

“Fine,” Damian said, taking his folder and hopping up.

Bruce held his hand out for Tim’s folder, so Tim reluctantly crossed the room and handed it over.

“Sit down,” Bruce said, when Tim stayed standing there awkwardly, “did you need help with anything?”

“No, sir.” He sat down on the spot Damian had vacated and crossed his arms, trying his best not to chew on his cheek.

Bruce looked over at him and frowned. Tim kind of wanted him to get it over with.

“It was just a couple worksheets and I had to read the next chapter in _Bridge to Terrabithia.”_

“Did you read the chapter?” Bruce asked as he pulled out the worksheets and looked at them each rather quickly.

“Yes.” Tim had actually read the rest of the book the week before, just so he wouldn’t have to keep reading it one chapter at a time. He hated reading books that way. His teacher said as long as he didn’t spoil the ending for the rest of the kids, she didn’t mind.

Nodding, Bruce put his worksheets back into the folder. “You did a great job on all these. But if you ever _do_ have questions, Alfred or I can help. One of us checks over everyone’s homework each evening.”

 _Every_ evening?

“Huh,” Bruce said, when he closed the folder and looked at the signature sheet, “That’s funny. Impressive that Jack was able to sign this from the other side of the globe.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, laughing a little awkwardly, refusing to meet Bruce’s gaze. He’d never been caught forging his dad’s signature. But of course Batman would catch him on literally day one.

Jason and Damian must not get away with _anything._

_Ever._

Bruce closed the folder and handed it back, actually _smiling._ Tim had expected him to be… mad. Or something. “Tomorrow, let me sign it, okay champ?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. Hopefully his teacher wouldn’t question why the signature changed… He didn’t really want to explain to her.

\- - -

Bedtime for Damian was 8pm on school nights. Apparently. No one had explicitly told Tim to go to bed then, too, but Alfred heavily implied that he should think about it.

And since Tim _knew_ Batman usually made his appearance sometime around 9, unless something big was going on in the city, he figured he should ‘go to bed’ so Bruce could slip away without him ‘noticing.’

What Tim _really_ wanted to do was slip out himself. He hadn’t been out in weeks. Not since before his parents got home.

He’d stayed up the night before to see if anyone came to check on him, but no one had bothered him at all from the moment he said he was going to bed. When Bruce got back from patrol, he checked on Damian and even went into Jason’s room for a little while, but didn’t come _near_ Tim’s door.

Which was good. _Perfect._

The only problem was the security system…

Drake Mansion had a security system, of course, but nothing _near_ as advanced as the Wayne Manor. Tim inspected his windows to see if he could open them and slip out that way, but every single window had a sensor on it. _Every single one._

Mom and Dad didn’t want to waste that kind of money on upstairs windows, so Tim was able to slip right out of his bedroom window without anyone knowing. There was _no way_ Tim could do that in Wayne Manor. He was almost positive Alfred would come running if he opened the window, probably thinking someone was breaking in.

Tim would need a different game plan.

He waited until 10, giving Bruce and Dick plenty of time to go out. Jason still hadn’t gone to bed, himself, but that was okay. He was _probably_ in the batcave. Tim wasn’t 100% sure _where_ the batcave was, but he was almost positive they could access it from Wayne Manor. And if Jason _were_ in training, it would make sense for him to spend time there while Batman and Nightwing and Batgirl all patrolled.

He’d heard them talk to ‘Jaybird’ enough times to basically confirm that.

With his camera and tripod, Tim made his way downstairs as quietly as he could. His best bet for getting out of the manor was through one of the doors the family frequently used. Maybe if he went out the patio door, the system wouldn’t even trip. And if it did, Alfred might assume Ace needed to go potty, since that was the door the dog used most.

If that didn’t work, another thought was to investigate the abandoned rooms in one of the unused wings. Although Tim doubted _Batman_ overlooked the security there.

The patio door opened silently, without setting off an alarm, so Tim closed it as quietly as he could, checking the knob to make sure it was unlocked. It would be _pointless_ if he could get _out_ but not back _in._

How the hell would he explain that to the Waynes? He’d unlocked one of his windows, just in case. But he’d have to pull a screen off, open it, slip inside, and figure out how to put it back on quickly before someone investigated why the window had been opened in the first place.

Tim lingered near the patio for a few minutes, waiting to see if anyone would investigate the patio door opening. Perhaps suspecting a burglar, or the wind. When nothing happened, he ventured further into the back gardens to explore. He had no real plans to go to Gotham that night. He hadn’t got _near_ an early enough start, and he was certainly not dressed for it. Not wearing his pajamas with just his jacket on over them.

He wandered the gardens for about twenty minutes, exploring out of mostly curiosity. Up over a hill was a _playground,_ which was pretty neat. The top platform looked like a nice, level spot to set up the tripod, so he climbed up and got to work. He needed some pictures of the grounds after dark, just in case he ever got caught coming back in. He’d have something to show.

All the pictures he took tonight would be kept on one SD card, and it would be the card he had in the camera whenever leaving or entering the manor. He’d even disabled the date on the camera, so no one could point to it and call out his lie.

_"Master Tim."_

Alfred admonishment, a few minutes into his photography, made Tim jump so hard he knocked the tripod. It was only his quick reflexes that kept the camera from smashing into the metal bars.

“What in heavens are you doing?”

“I’m,” Tim stammered, as he righted his tripod and tried his best not to shake from the spike of adrenaline, “I’m taking pictures.”

“Of _what,”_ Alfred nearly demanded. Tim didn’t know Alfred would get so upset about him sneaking out. Bruce, maybe, but Alfred? _“_ It is the middle of the night and quite cold out here.”

“The stars,” he said, reciting the story he’d prepared. But he frowned at how Alfred wasn’t even wearing a coat. Just his collared shirt and slacks. Had Alfred run outside looking for him? _Why?_

“I thought I saw a shooting star. I wanted to try and catch one,” he finished, in a small voice.

Alfred huffed and pulled his phone from his pocket, putting it up to his ear. “Yes, sir. I’ve found him. He went outside to take pictures of the sky.”

Tim sat down on the edge of the platform, his legs dangling over the side as he watched Alfred nod at his phone. Who was Alfred talking to? _Bruce?_ Bruce was out on patrol, wasn’t he? Why would _he_ be worrying about where Tim was?

“Yes, he is fine. We are at the playground,” Alfred paused, nodded again, and finished with, “Yes, sir. I’ll handle it.”

All Tim did was grasp onto the metal bar next to him, the _freezing_ metal bar, waiting for Alfred to say something. Yell at him, maybe.

“Master Tim,” Alfred said, much softer than Tim had been expecting, “You gave us all quite the panic, young sir. When the perimeter was breached and you were not in your bed…”

Alfred trailed off, and Tim frowned harder. He hadn’t meant to _panic_ anyone. He’d figured they might suspect a burglar had gotten in and go inspect the opened door, but to check on _him?_ Why would they do that?

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” he said after a second, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s quite all right,” Alfred said, heaving a sigh, “But please do not repeat this, sir. If you wish to go outside past dark, you must _ask.”_

“Oh.” There went his plans. He… he could probably survive four months without taking pictures of Batman.

After all, he was _living_ with Batman. So maybe that was good enough, right?

“Do you do this often?” Alfred asked, crossing his arms as he shivered a little. Tim felt even _worse_ for making Alfred go outside without a coat on.

“Sometimes,” he admitted with a shrug. It wasn’t _not_ true. He did _sometimes_ take night sky pictures.

The Gotham skyline was usually a little more visible, though…

“I will be right back,” Alfred said, leveling Tim a look that said _do not try me,_ “Do not wander.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily.

Tim spent the ten minutes Alfred was inside trying to take a few more pictures, so he’d at least have _something_ to show for it. He stayed right there on the playground, and was a little startled to see Alfred come back with a couple mugs and a coat slung over his arm. He’d also put a hat and coat on, himself.

“I am much too old for this,” Alfred grumbled as he climbed up the playground to reach Tim. After setting the mugs down, he handed Tim the coat and said, “Put this on, young sir. I won’t have you catching a cold over this little stunt.”

“Sorry,” Tim mumbled as he put it on, and merely blinked at Alfred when the man slipped a hat onto Tim’s head. Tim _had_ worn a jacket. He _wasn’t_ freezing to death.

“There. In your pockets you will find some hand warmers.”

Tim slipped his hands into his pockets and was delighted to feel warmth in there. He pulled one out to inspect, and found it was just a simple bag filled with some sort of coarse material. Probably a chemical reaction, of some sort.

Why had he never _heard_ of handwarmers before? Many-a-nights would have been _much_ more pleasant with these in his pockets.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“My pleasure, I am just glad you are all right.”

They spent twenty minutes, slowly sipping away at the _hot chocolate_ Alfred had brought them, while Tim took more photos. Alfred asked all sorts of questions about how Tim was taking pictures of the sky, and Tim got to explain his method for focusing and doing a long exposure to get the sky and gardens in front of them to appear on camera.

It… it was honestly the most fun Tim had had doing photography in a _long_ time. Maybe since the first time he found Batman and Nightwing and took pictures of them in action.

No one had ever asked him about his photography. Now both Bruce and Alfred had taken interest. _More_ than polite interest, too. It made him feel a little more guilty about panicking them.

“I’m sorry for sneaking out,” Tim said, as they were both sitting on the edge of the platform, their feet resting on the lower platform where Tim had his camera currently set. He was trying to get a picture of the woods through the playground bars, using his phone to adjust the settings.

Alfred sighed and placed his arm around Tim’s shoulders for a second as he said, “That’s quite all right, young sir. I take it you have never needed to ask permission to do night photography?”

“No.” Tim hadn’t specifically ever _had_ permission, but it wasn’t like anyone noticed if he left, either.

“Well. I will let you in on a secret,” Alfred said, placing his hand behind Tim as he leaned back a little on it, “When Master Damian was a toddler, he was kidnapped.”

“Oh,” Tim said, his eyes a little wide. He’d _heard_ of kids getting kidnapped, and sometimes the wealthy people in Gotham had their kids kidnapped for ransom, but he’d never heard about any of the Wayne kids being kidnapped. Not outside Robin, of course.

No one had ever kidnapped him, either.

Although it kind of explained everyone getting panicked about Tim being ‘missing.’ He didn’t think they’d jump to that conclusion…

“Yes,” Alfred continued, “So as you can imagine, we have very strong security now. There is not a way to leave the manor without us knowing, so please do not try again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. I will be more than happy to bring you out for night photography in the future on _non_ school nights, all right lad?”

Tim ducked his head and nodded.

So taking photos of Batman was definitely off the table, but at least Alfred was cool with him taking pictures in general. Maybe he could convince Bruce to bring him into Gotham during the day one day… It wouldn’t be too different from taking photos of Batman. Especially if _Batman_ was the one who took him out.

That would be funny, actually.

“Why don’t we get you to bed,” Alfred said, patting at Tim’s back before he stood, “It is much too late and you have school in the morning.”

“Okay,” he said, collecting up his things and climbing down the playground.

He could definitely make it all work. It was fun taking pictures with someone keeping him company, after all.

Staying with the Waynes was the _coolest_ thing to happen to him.

Now if he could just figure out how to talk to Dick…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim being startled by people showing concern for him is my favorite. <3 
> 
> Funny enough, that homework scene has been written for well over a year. The photo scene got made up on the spot. LOL I think the photo scene was far more important. Pretty funny how that works out. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and commenting!!! See y'all next week! <3


	13. The Girl

She didn’t understand the man in the dark cape. 

He was her target. 

But when she attacked him, and failed, he didn’t attack her back. Usually targets fought back. This one, though. This one let her go. He let go and let her back up. Held his hands out. 

He was concerned scared sad angry…. For her.

 _For_ her.

Not at her. 

It made no sense. 

Targets were never angry _for_ her. Always at her. 

The man intrigued her. 

She spent the next few nights trailing him. He was rarely alone. Sometimes he was with the man without the cape, the same one from the first night. But other times he was with a woman. There were two women, one with a cape and one without. He seemed to like the one without a cape more. 

That night he was with the man. But she did not care about his partner. It was the man in the cape she was to attack. 

Attack and distract. That was her mission. Kill, if she could, but she didn’t _have_ to. Her trainer thought she’d try, but he didn’t believe she _could._

If failure was expected of her… if failure was _acceptable_ this time, why would she try at all? They didn’t think she would succeed, so she would not. 

She followed them for a while, watching with interest how her target moved. How he reacted.

He was graceful. She was not used to men his size being graceful. When he landed, it was softly. Gently. Silently. It was pleasant to watch.

Protective was another thing. There was a group of men attacking some kids. Hitting them. They wanted the kids’ things, she knew. They were angry, mean in their faces. Loud angry violent bodies, lashing out at the children. 

Her target jumped down right into the middle of them, and his body screamed angry, protect. He put himself right in front of the children. Used his cape to shield them.

When one of the men pulled out a knife and tried to stab her target’s partner, he turned to outrage. Stomping. Angry stomping, punches, pushes. Just like the mean people, but _not_ like the mean people, at the same time.

It was fascinating. He was not angry for himself. He was not protective of himself. He was protective of everyone else. 

Which… had included her. 

Even after she attacked his partner. 

Once the fight was over, his partner knelt down and was soft soft kind to the children, and it worked, because their bodies changed from scared to relieved safe. 

While the partner was soft kind to the children, her target pulled himself up to the roof. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he climbed over the wall and landed on the roof, about twenty yards from where she was hiding. 

He noticed her instantly. 

She wasn’t sure what to do. Her mission was _distract._ Did she have to attack him, to distract him?

Relieved happy concerned was what he showed, once he got a good look at her, and she figured that was distracted enough. He clipped his climbing tool back around his waist and stepped closer, as he made noises at her. 

She didn’t understand why he did that. Last time, all of them had made noises at her. Over and over. And had looked at her… expectantly. Like she was supposed to do something in return, but she had no idea what.

Her… her trainer did it sometimes, too. Made noises. Not often. He was always upset with himself, when he did. He never expected her to do anything in return. 

The target frowned. He didn’t like that she didn’t do anything. 

He stepped forward and made more noises. This time in a different pattern. He smiled, when she tilted her head. 

His smile was nice. 

When he got too close, though, she took a step back. He didn’t seem to want to hurt her. His body was not saying mean angry hurt. Quite the opposite, in fact, but that still did not mean she would let him near her. 

Her target stopped his approach immediately, and knelt down, still making noises. The pattern kept shifting. He held a hand out, and tried to beckon _her_ closer. 

She stared at him warily for a solid few seconds, because he was incredibly confusing. Usually people had pretend nice, mean underneath, but he didn’t. He had concern concern concern curiosity. 

Concern _for_ her. She wanted to know more about that, so she started to edge closer. Step by step, until she was almost within his reach, but just barely outside it. 

He smiled at her, and made more noises. When she only stared, he faltered, and changed the pattern again. And again. And again.

As he shifted through the noise patterns, he started to slump. He got sad. More sad. Defeated. 

She didn’t understand. 

Finally, he stopped making noises, and if she could see his eyes, she was almost certain she’d see _anguish_ there. 

When he reached into one of his pockets, she took a step back. He still did not look mean, but pockets were where weapons were hidden, and she would not be caught off guard. He dug around for a second, not paying any attention to her hurried steps back. When she pulled out a knife, however, he looked up and smiled. 

Embarrassed, he was saying. Nice, embarrassed, soft. 

Her eyes flickered to the object he pulled out, before turning back to his face. He held the object out again, shaking it a little. Asking her to come take it. 

It was a strange object. Round. Bright. Like the color of blood, but lighter. On a stick. She was not sure what the purpose of it was. It would be difficult to wield as a weapon. The stick could probably be jammed into softer places of a body, but it would take a lot of force. Very ineffective. Her knife would be better.

He shook it again, his body screaming ‘this is for you,’ so she took another step forward and reached out. He smiled even brighter when she hesitantly placed her hand around the round part, allowing him to let go of it. 

It crinkled, under her touch. She could not feel it through the cloth on her hands, but the sound was audible. What was the purpose of something so… flimsy? She scowled down at it, as she moved it to her other hand, so she was holding it by the stick to inspect it. 

Feet landed on the roof, a few feet behind her target. She snapped her attention upward to see the partner arrive. While the target was still showing concern concern concern, but now with a touch of happy, the partner was showing wary cautious exasperated. 

She did not want to deal with two of them. 

Her target turned his head to look at his partner, so she took his momentary distraction as a chance to get away. Tucking the object into her clothing, she darted toward the end of the roof, and leapt over the edge before her target looked back at her again. She caught a railing, around a stairwell on the side of the building, and quickly descended to the ground to run off.

It wasn’t until four blocks later did she look back. Neither her target nor the partner were pursuing her, so she ducked into an alley and slowed her gait. 

Her sleeping place was only a few blocks away, so she walked there, keeping out of the sight of all the people out on the street. Not that there were many people out on the street in the middle of the night. 

The bright thing in her pocket was interesting, for sure. It could have been a trap, her target offering it to her. She probably should _not_ have taken it, but he looked so genuine. Bodies rarely lied, and his was showing only nice things. No harm for her. She’d never had a target like him before. 

She also didn’t understand what was happening with her mission. She had been sent on missions before. Distract missions, every time. She was little. People underestimated her. They were always confused by her presence. Concerned, sometimes, but in a more muted, less caring way from her current target. As soon as she attacked, they always turned vicious. So it made no sense that her current target wasn’t reacting the same way.

It also did not make sense why her backup was not attacking. Every time she was sent to distract, as soon as she did, the others would appear. They would appear and her trainer would shepherd her away. Why was that not happening? 

Was it because her target had not been alone yet? Was she supposed to find him while he was alone, and distract him then? He was almost never alone. 

Inside her sleeping place, which was a very large open building without any people inside, she climbed up into the rafters and found the blanket she stole.

She liked her blanket. It was warm and soft. When she wrapped it around herself, she felt cozy, and no matter how she lay on the ground. Or rafters. Or wherever, she was warm and soft and comfortable. 

Once she was wrapped up and resting in her favorite corner of the rafters, she pulled the bright thing out again. 

It was easy to spin around, by rolling the stick between her fingers. It was mesmerizing, when she did that, actually. The flat circle looked like a ball. It still made no sense. Why would her target give her this? What was it for?

In her spinning, she noticed it… smelled. Of something. When she gave it a better sniff, she realized it was a… sweet smell. Sweet. Like food she sometimes stole from the kitchens. She tried tasting it, then. If it were food, maybe that was why her target gave it to her. He was concerned for her. He gave her food. Her trainer did that a lot. 

The taste of it was… nothing, though. Plastic. Cold and hard and flat. No taste. But the plastic was only a thin layer, so she picked at it until it came off. That was when the _real_ smell of it was noticeable. When she tasted it again, she couldn’t help but smile. It was good. 

It was like… like the liquid her trainer gave her, when she wasn’t well. When she was cold and sweating and throwing up. She didn’t like being not well, but her trainer was usually kinder. That was when he showed concern concern concern. Not hard mean pride. 

Would her target change from concern concern concern to hard mean pride? Maybe, when her backup finally came to help. He might feel betrayed hurt angry. She… almost did not want her target to feel that. She liked when people were kind. 

The bright thing tasted good. 

Maybe if she kept distracting him with not attacking, he would give her another one. As long as she was still distracting, she was still following orders. Technically. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things. Cass obviously doesn’t have language yet, so I tried to write this in a way that shows that while…. still being in English. LOL So i tried to avoid nouns as much as possible, and kept the sentences simple. That’s a huge reason why the chapter is shorter than the others. I hope it worked out and wasn’t a huge pain to read. Thanks a zillion to Kasyfairytaillover for going through it with me and helping me figure out how to handle it.
> 
> Second, I actually thought cass was older when she killed her first person and ran away, but now I realize she was 8 when that happened. (Like, I thought Cain had been training her into her preteen years, based on a couple issue’s i’ve read where she goes into her backstory) but anyway. SO, in MY au, she was (going to be) like 12 or so when she learned killing was wrong. Right now she’s just turned 11. Or is about to be. I’d have to figure out what ‘today’s’ date is to figure that out. Her bday is in late january and it might actually be a few days before the 26th still. I think I started the story off on the 13th. But yeah, in the last arc Cain said Cass wasn’t ready yet, because he hadn’t completed her training and had her kill someone for the first time. 
> 
> And finally, I pulled a lot of inspriation from Raberba_Girl’s Cass POV writing in The Birds Who Smile, so thanks a ton for that Raberba. I’ve never written Cass before, and I liked how you explained how she saw what people around her were feeling. 
> 
> Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, it was actually very hard to write for all the aformentioned reasons. Next week is either from Bruce or Dick POV, haven’t decided yet, so that’s gonna be just as fun…. See y’all then! 
> 
> (pls dont say mean things in the comments it wont help me at all. I do not want concrit.)


	14. Bruce

“You gave an assassin a lollipop,” Dick scoffed, once he landed on the roof behind Batman, clearly both amused and exasperated with Bruce just based on his tone. 

Bruce did not have to turn back around to know the little girl had taken the opportunity to bolt. He could tell, by the slight crinkle the plastic wrapper made from the inside of her pocket. It took a lot of will power for him not to sigh dramatically, just over her running.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to have found her again. When they went several days without a whiff of her, he’d been concerned the League called her back. 

Considering she’d been up on the roof, just above where he and Nightwing took out a group of thugs, Bruce figured she must have been trailing them for a while, instead of engaging. Bruce didn’t blame her, of course. It was a little startling, to be ambushed by four of them. She likely was not trying to repeat that. 

“I gave a _child_ a lollipop,” he said dryly, standing from where he’d been kneeling, “It is what I carry them around for.”

“Yeah,” Nightwing said, and if Bruce could see his eyes, he was almost positive he’d see Dick roll them, “like, scared kids who gotta wait for the cops, or just watched their parents get arrested or something. Not _assassins_ who want to _stab_ you.”

At that point, it was _unlikely_ she wanted to _stab_ him. She’d had the opportunity to do so just then, after all. Instead she’d allowed Bruce to be close, and had even accepted the gift from him. Then did not take advantage while his back was turned.

He wished he knew who was pulling her strings. The League, he had almost no doubt, but _who_ in the League? Had Damian been just one of _many_ genetics experiments? The mere thought _any_ other children had been created via the League’s foray into _breeding_ made Bruce’s skin crawl. He was _so thankful_ Damian had been handed over to him, however reluctantly. It was unfortunate that whoever this girl clearly hadn’t been so lucky. 

But Bruce was going to fix that. He was going to figure out what her deal was, and _help her._ Maybe he could find who her parents were, and if one of them were decent, return her. He would not put it past the League to outright _kidnap_ children, either. 

“She’s just a little girl,” Batman eventually said, staring off down the road, toward where she’d run. 

A little girl who had been _confused_ by every single language he used. Confused, and yet curious. She’d cocked her head, after he switched languages for about the fourth time, and continued to stare at him. Absolutely no understanding blooming in her eyes, no matter how many languages he used. 

It was when she finally frowned, mirroring the crushing feeling he’d been keeping locked up inside, he understood. 

“I don’t think she understands language. _Any_ language,” he said, turning the thought over in his head. How would he communicate with a child who didn’t know _language?_ How did she… think? Understand the world? 

Nightwing walked over and joined Bruce, on the edge of the roof, and asked, “Never taught a language? How is that possible?”

Abuse.

Abuse was how it was possible. Really, terrible, awful abuse. 

“If you never speak to a baby,” he said, “never speak in their presence, they’ll never learn what it is.” 

Bruce had watched a documentary, as a child, about a little girl who had been kept locked up in a hidden bedroom and never spoken to for over a decade. 

She’d had no concept of language, upon being discovered. 

He could not _believe_ people could do such a terrible thing to a child. And yet… there they were.

Dealing with _another_ little girl, who had been mistreated just as much.

His entire game plan needed to change. 

Returning her to her parents might not be an option. _Especially_ if her parents were the reason she was so developmentally stunted. 

“Wouldn’t that permanently stunt her, though?” Nightwing asked, rubbing at his chin, “One of those things if you don’t learn it by age five you lose the ability all together?”

Possibly. There had been studies done on it, to an extent. It was difficult to study, being unethical to abuse children in that manner. But the little girl from the documentary had _not_ learned language, from what Bruce remembered. They thought she was making progress, then had a drastic regression and never was able to carry on conversations. 

This little girl, though… 

It was very possible.

“She can make noise,” he hypothesized aloud, “I’ve heard her make noise. And she seems incredibly adept at reading body language.” 

When Bruce had knelt down and made himself look small and non-threatening, she’d taken right to it. And when he accidentally scared her, by reaching into his pockets, he tried to get across that he didn’t _mean_ to scare her, and she’d caught on and relaxed immediately. 

“Perhaps that is her ‘first language.’ As long as the neural pathways are there, they can be built upon. I don’t think she’s a lost cause.” 

“Hm,” Nightwing responded, sounding less like he was in thought, and more like he was just _humoring_ Bruce with his reaction. Or letting Bruce keep using him as a soundboard. 

“If we immerse her in English,” he continued, already trying to determine what would be the best course of action for doing _that._ He _did_ have experience in teaching a human being language, after all. It might not be too different from teaching a baby. “Introduce the concept that objects have words. Over enunciate and—“

“Batman,” Nightwing cut in.

“—hire a speech pathologist—“

“Batman.”

“—I’m confident we can—

“Bruce.”

“Yes?” he asked, his eye twitching a little as he resisted the urge to chide ‘names’ at Dick. All he’d get in response was ‘ _you weren’t responding to Batman,’_ and Bruce didn’t particularly want to argue about it. 

Nightwing’s lip twitched, in the way it always did when Dick was about to say something he thought was _hilarious._ Bruce tried not to roll his eyes as Dick said, “So her not knowing language means she’s up for adoption?”

 _Adoption?_ Maybe not. But he was certainly going to foster her, until he could figure out who her parents were, and whether they actually deserved to have her back. 

In the long run, though? Perhaps. 

“Whoever her caretakers are purposely did not teach her language,” he pointed out, “And if those caretakers _are_ her parents, yes, it does.” 

“They also trained her to be an assassin,” Dick said, as if _that_ would possibly be a point _against_ offering her a safer home.

With a slight quirk in his own lip, Bruce said, “Which _also_ means she’s up for adoption.” 

The huff of laughter Nightwing let out made Bruce smile fully. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Nightwing said, shaking his head a little despite his own amused look.

Yeah. He _did_ know he was ridiculous. “What alternatives do you see?” he asked, allowing the somber mood to fall over them. 

Regular foster care wouldn’t be able to handle an assassin child. She was from the League. She’d been taught to fight, possibly kill. Her first instinct was to _stab,_ and she didn’t know a lick of English. 

Or _any_ language. 

And if they did, indeed, ‘kidnap’ her away from the League of Assassin… she was going to need all the protection she could get. They were _already_ protecting a child from the League. It would take almost no effort at all to place her under that same protection. 

Really, the more Bruce thought about it, the more he felt living with him was her _only_ option at a normal childhood. 

Dick sighed, deliberately loud, in lieu of answering, so Bruce said, “I understand your argument about the child at home, I do. Had I known what we were signing up for, I might not have offered to let him stay in the first place, but I can’t go back on my promise, and he _needs_ people caring about him, Nightwing. His parents are neglectful at best, abusive at worse.” 

“I know,” Dick said shortly, as he took a seat on the wall around the edge of the roof to face Bruce, “but how are you going to keep _him_ in the dark if you bring _her_ home one night?”

A good question, Bruce had to admit. It really couldn’t be like Jason, where he just loaded him up in the car one night and brought him home. Damian, perhaps, should have been warned there was another kid in the house that morning, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. Damian knew about Batman. He knew Batman saved children. Tim, though…. Bruce would have to… _explain_ the presence of another child to Tim. 

Perhaps he could get a social worker to drop the girl off. Or they could tell Tim it had been an emergency placement, in the middle of the night. That might be easier than trying to convince the little girl to go with a stranger just to be dropped off at his house. 

Rubbing at his head, lamenting the fact he was wearing both gloves and his cowl so it did nothing to relieve his frustration, he asked, “What would you have me do, otherwise?”

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it,” Nightwing said, smiling a little, “I’m just trying to make you think _through_ it. You’re great with planning in literally every other situation, but with kids, for whatever stupid reason you just dive in head first and make it up as you go along until it blows up in your _face.”_

“That’s being a little dramatic,” Bruce said dryly. 

It didn’t always blow up in his face… at least, not because of a lack of planning. Usually the blow ups were caused by a lack of communication. He _knew_ that. He could _avoid_ that. 

“It’s still true,” Dick sang, grinning now at how Bruce just scowled at him. 

“Okay. Look, I think the solution is, we determine if _he_ is trustworthy enough to know. It will likely take some time to earn the trust of the little girl, so we have some time to get to know him more.” 

Tim, so far, seemed like a perfectly pleasant child. And with how sad it was, Bruce was fairly confident they could win his loyalty and adoration _quickly,_ just by showing him basic human decency. Like giving him attention. And acting like they cared about him. They _did_ care about him, of course. Tim seemed so unused to such things that he _ate it up_ when they offered. It wouldn’t take long at all to win his loyalty. 

All they really had to do was make sure he didn’t have loose lips. 

Besides, gaining the little girl’s trust was going to be a _feat._ He wasn’t quite sure _how_ to convince a child he was unable to communicate with he would _never_ hurt her, but they would find a way. 

She understood body language, most likely. They’d _all_ just have to practice at conveying their intentions and feelings through that. He’d learned how to fake happy for Damian, how to hide his anger for Jason, he could figure out how to do this, too, he was sure. 

But how would they explain her lack of language to Tim…

Dick frowned, and eventually asked, quietly, “You want to entrust this secret to a ten-year-old? It’s not just _your_ secret, you know.” 

“I know,” he said, because he _did._ He understood that outing himself outed Dick, as well. Possibly outed Babs and Selina, “But you know I’d tell the entire universe if it was the right thing to do.” In the end, they had all signed up for this, and he was confident they would all agree with him. Once they met the little girl. Once _all_ of them got to know her. 

Bruce might not have known her well, yet, but he could tell that she was a _sweet_ little girl. 

All Dick did was sigh, so Bruce took a seat next to him on the wall, and asked, “Are _you_ willing to share it, for this little girl’s sake?” He was fairly certain Dick’s answer would be ‘yes,’ but it was probably a good idea to… involve Dick in such major decisions. 

He _would_ have involved Dick in the decision to bring Jason home, had Dick been speaking to him back then. 

“B, of course. I’d follow you to hell if it was what you felt was right, you know that.”

Of course he knew that. Bruce placed his arm around Dick’s shoulders and squeezed, just for a second as he said, “I hope that’s never necessary,” then let go. He stood and pulled out his grapple, ready to keep going with their patrol. 

It was only a little after midnight, they still had a couple more hours left before they would call it quits. Besides, until he’d run into the little girl, he had been enjoying the patrol without Jason in his ear or any one else tagging along. 

Making Jason _official_ support, or whatever the lad ended up calling himself, had been a pretty good decision. It meant he could _officially_ enact bedtimes on school nights, or require nights off in general, just as Bruce had done to Dick when he was little. 

“Ya know,” Nightwing said, as they were swinging between roofs, about twenty minutes later, looking for crime to stop, “I always thought _Catwoman_ would be the first girl to join the house. Shoulda known you’d go adopting a zillion kids before you two _finally—“_

“Be quiet, Nightwing,” he grumbled. He was so _over_ people chiming in what he and Selina _should_ or _should not_ be doing. 

Nightwing grinned and said, “I’m just saying—“

“Well don’t.”

He and Selina were both happy and content with how things were. Why was it an issue? 

They both landed on the next roof, and paused to survey the portion of Crime Alley beneath them, while Nightwing said, “Touchy, touchy. You should tell her about the little girl, though. Seriously, as awesome of a mom Agent A is—“

“Don’t call Agent A ‘mom,’” he cut in, rolling his eyes. While Bruce was fairly certain Dick had never said that _to_ Alfred’s face, Bruce was _also_ fairly certain he saw himself as grandfather to the kids. He might appreciate hearing _that_ term far more than hearing ‘mom’ come out of any of the kids’ mouths. 

After a pause, Dick finished, “—She’s going to need a woman in her life.“

Bruce sighed and rubbed at his face again. Of course she’d need that. But she’d have it. There were actually quite a few women in his boys’ lives. He had no doubt all of them would pay attention to the new little girl and help her out when necessary. 

But he really did have _a lot_ to think about—to plan for when it came to bringing that little girl home. 

They might not even be _able_ to bring her home. But Dick was right, _if_ they took her in, they would need a solid plan in place for it. 

Step one would be to earn her trust, regardless. So that was what Bruce would focus on. 

That… and figure out what to call her. He really ought to know what her name was, if he was planning out how to adopt her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~~~~~ I did end up taking that break. It was nice. I've been playing video games all week. Quite lovely. :D 
> 
> I haven't proofed this yet. I'll do that later. :3 But thanks for reading it anyway!!!! ❤️ you guys, see you next week!


	15. Tim

Living in Wayne Manor was weird. Tim had been there almost two full weeks, and he was still a little dazed by it all.

First, there was _always_ someone around. _Always._ Bruce tended to be busy most the day and spent a lot of his time in his study, but he took a few minutes every evening to check over Tim’s homework, right along side Damian and Jason’s, and ate every meal with them they ate at home.

Every. Single. One. 

And even though he did spend a lot of the evening and weekend in his office, he also said stuff like, “ _I always have time for you, Tim, just come find me if you need me_.” Tim had yet to ‘come find him,’ because really, what was so important that he needed to interrupt Bruce’s work? But he also knew both Jason and Damian interrupted Bruce _all the time,_ and never once had he heard Bruce yelling about it, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. It might be something he had to test out, one day. He did that with Dad a lot. Test to see what things he _meant_ and what things he just said because it was the nice thing to say. 

Alfred was pretty great, too. They’d had a snow day on the second Wednesday Tim was there, and Alfred invited Tim to have _tea_ with him. Like, just the two of them, drinking real tea. In fancy china cups. While they sat around and chatted for well over an _hour._

 _Then_ Alfred had taken him, Jason, and Damian to a park for the afternoon so Tim could take pictures of the fresh snow and all three of them could go sledding with the other kids at the park. 

It was so _cool._

One of his nannies used to take him to do fun things like that, but it’d been several years since she’d been his nanny. Every one after her hadn’t liked the cold, and preferred Tim stayed inside on snow days. 

Mom and Dad hadn’t emailed him, though. That was the biggest downside to this entire ordeal. Sure, not getting to take pictures of Batman and Nightwing was a bummer, but spending time with their civilian selves more than made up for it. Mom and Dad being mad at him downrigh _t sucked._

Usually, when they were away on trips, they emailed him at least once a week with pictures and a summary of what they were doing. Where they were going. The sites they were seeing. It always made him feel in the loop when they did that. 

Now, though. Now they weren’t emailing him at all. And Mom had only sent him a couple texts over the entire two weeks. He wasn’t sure what to do to fix it. If he kept texting them or emailing them, it’d just annoy them and then they’d be more angry. But was not contacting them at _all_ the answer? Didn’t they get upset when he cut communication completely? 

If Tim had to guess, he’d say it was the stress from _that_ making him have all the nightmares. 

He was no stranger to bad dreams, of course. All kids had bad dreams, but since staying at Wayne Manor he’d been having them several times a week. 

And it _sucked._

Especially when he had school the next morning, like he did that night. 

The dream hadn’t even been about _anything._ He’d woken up in a state of panic, but couldn’t quite pin down exactly _what_ the dream had fully been about. He’d been lost, he remembered that much. Completely and totally lost in some weird building, and had a huge heavy weight dragging him down so he couldn’t find his way out. He could barely move under the weight, and it had only added to his sense of panic. 

_Stupid._

It made _no sense._

But no matter how many times his brain told the rest of him that it was _stupid_ and a _dumb dream_ and there was _nothing wrong,_ he still couldn’t stop crying over it. 

Tim sniffed rather loudly as he tried to calm himself back down. According to the alarm clock next to his bed, it wasn’t even 3am yet. He still had _hours_ before he had to get up for school, and if he couldn’t stop crying, there was no way he was getting back to sleep.

Even if he did stop crying, he already knew he’d wake up with a headache and feel bad all day long. And Alfred would ask things like “ _Did you sleep alright, Master Tim?_ ” and “ _Are you sure you’re feeling well, lad?_ ” and if he didn’t get _more sleep_ before he had to face Alfred, those questions would threaten to set him off again because his brain would say stupid stuff at him like ‘ _he noticed_ ’ and ‘ _no one ever notices._ ’ 

He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into his pillow, trying to smother the crying to death. Now it was almost to the point he couldn’t keep it silent any more, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake someone up. 

Crying over nightmares was for _babies._ Mom had told him _years_ ago he was too old to be so upset by them. They weren’t _real._ He should be able to handle them _himself,_ and crying was _not_ handling them!

Tim had his face pressed into the pillow hard when his door slowly opened. The hinge creaked, he knew, but he hadn’t heard it that time because his ears were covered up by the pillow, and a little busy listening to his own stupid ragged breathing. 

He only noticed the door opened because the pressure in the room changed, ever so slightly. Whoever was at the door stood at the threshold for a few seconds, and didn’t say a word.

It was most likely Bruce making his rounds after patrol. Tim had actually been asleep most nights that week when Bruce finally got home, but the few times he’d been awake, he heard Bruce check on both Damian and Jason. It was a little funny how he always did that, but maybe he just had to make sure the kids hadn’t snuck out or something. 

Maybe if Tim stayed still and held his breath, Bruce would just think Tim asleep and go away. 

But probably not. 

There was almost no chance Bruce hadn’t noticed him crying. 

“Tim, buddy,” Bruce said after a few more seconds, then sighed, “What’s wrong?”

And now Tim was annoying Bruce with his crying. 

He was _trying_ not to cry. He _was._ It just wouldn’t _stop._

“Nothing,” he tried to mumble out, although with his face still pressed into his pillow, it was unlikely Bruce even heard him. Which probably would just annoy him _more._

“Son, you’re crying.” 

Tim shook his head and held his breath for a solid second, to try and force it all to stop. When it sort of did, he pulled his face back away from the pillow just enough that he could say, “No, I’m not,” loud enough for Bruce to actually hear. 

“Okay,” Bruce said with a sigh. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, based on the creaking of the floor beneath him, then asked, “Are you missing your parents?”

“No,” Tim said thickly, sniffing one last time as he finally pulled himself under control. 

That wasn’t _entirely_ true. He _was_ missing his parents. But, again, that wasn’t worth crying over. And it certainly wasn’t why he was crying _then._ It was a stupid dumb pointless dream. 

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, as Tim pulled his blanket up over his face, so he could turn and face Bruce. He scrubbed his face clean and peeked out to see Bruce still standing in the doorway, his head tilted as he observed Tim.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asked. 

Apparently there was no hiding it. 

Tim nodded, wondering what Bruce would do now. Tim wasn’t injured or anything, so there was no reason to stick around. Now that he’d quit crying, too, all there was left to do was go back to sleep. 

Instead of go away, though Bruce stayed standing in the doorway. Looking a little awkward, actually, as he took an aborted step forward. He grasped onto the doorknob and frowned. 

“Why don’t you come down to the kitchen,” he said, “I’ll make us some hot chocolate. That should help you feel better.”

“I’m fine,” Tim mumbled, blinking over at Bruce. He was good. It’d probably take him about an hour or two to get back to sleep, and then he’d sleep until Alfred got him up for school. Everything was fine now. It was stupid it hadn’t been fine at all to begin with, so there was definitely no reason Bruce should make Tim _hot chocolate._

Or do anything, at all. He was probably tired. Tim was almost certain patrol was _exhausting._

“Come on, kiddo, it’ll help get your mind off it, if nothing else.”

Get his… _what?_

“I’ll let you pick out a movie for us to watch, too.”

_Movie???_

“At three in the morning?” he asked, furrowing his brows at Bruce. Why would they watch a movie in the middle of the night? On a _school night?_ “I have school in the morning.”

Even when Tim spent the night following Batman around, he was usually in bed and asleep by three. 

“You’re in 5th grade,” Bruce answered, motioning with his head toward the hallway, “it won’t kill you to call in sick just this once. Come on, kiddo.”

Call in _sick?_

Over _nightmares??_

What would Bruce even _tell_ them? ‘Tim’s _tired_ because he couldn’t _sleep_ last night???’ What kind of lousy excuse was that?

Tim stayed lying there, wide eyed, completely unsure about what to say. Every time he tried to get out of stuff they _never_ let him. 

So it came as no surprise when Bruce said, in a tone that left no room for arguments, “I’m going to make the hot chocolate, come downstairs when you’re ready.”

After Bruce left, Tim slowly dragged himself out of bed and trudged into the bathroom. He took a couple minutes to wash his face and brush his teeth, since he _knew_ he had morning breath, even if it wasn’t actually morning yet. Just because he was an actual mess didn’t mean he had to _look_ like it, too. 

Looking in the mirror, though, showed him that there was little hope he’d erase all evidence he’d been crying. His face turned so splotchy every time he cried, and that time had not been an exception. And no matter how many splashes of cold water he did, it was not going away. 

Maybe Bruce didn’t care, anyway. Possibly. He’d obviously just demanded Tim go downstairs with him to _watch a movie,_ even though he’d seen Tim crying over _nightmares._

It was still so strange how none of the Waynes seemed to _care_ how much of a baby Tim could be. Mom would have said something like, “Honestly, Timothy, it is not this big a deal,’ and that would've been _that._ Tim would have taken a deep breath and calmed himself, and then life would move on.

So why were the Waynes acting any different? Why were they always so obsessed with _doing things_ with him, whenever he seemed even remotely not-okay to them?

Down in the kitchen, Tim found Bruce digging through the cabinets while two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sat on the island. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Bruce said, when Tim stopped in the room’s threshold and stared, “I know I’m no Alfred, but the other kids say my hot chocolate isn’t terrible so,” Bruce nodded to the mugs sitting on the island, “do you want marshmallows for it? I’m almost positive we have a bag somewhere.”

Shaking his head, Tim walked over to the island, dragging his feet the whole way, until he was close enough to pick up a mug. After looking around, considering where to go with it, he placed it down in front of one of the stools and climbed up. 

“Yeah, that’s a lot of sugar for three in the morning, huh,” Bruce mused, as he took the second mug and sat down across from Tim.

All Tim did was nod, resting his head down close to the mug to simply smell the hot chocolate, letting its warmth soothe his puffy eyes. Tea would actually be nicer, Tim thought, then immediately felt guilty over it. He didn’t deserve the _hot chocolate,_ what right did he have to want _tea?_ So late at night? When he should be _asleep_ and not wasting _anyone’s_ time like that. 

“So,” Bruce said, after he took a sip of his own drink, “Do you want to watch a movie now, or drink our hot chocolate in here first?”

“We don’t have to watch a movie,” Tim mumbled into his mug, before he finally took his first sip. Bruce was right, it wasn’t _terrible,_ but Alfred’s hot chocolate was _definitely_ better. Like. Way better. 

But Tim wasn’t about to complain about it. It was nice enough Bruce had made it at all. 

“Tim, buddy,” Bruce said, then paused to sigh and rub at his face, “Look. I know you like to be out of the way and think every little thing you do is a bother, but it really _isn’t._ I _promise_ you are not a bother or a burden or whatever mean words are going through your head, okay? _”_

Tim froze, staring down at the hot chocolate in his mug. Bruce had said the same thing a couple times, already. 

_‘You’re not a bother.’_

_‘It’s not a bother.’_

_‘Really, Tim, we enjoy spending time with you.’_

But it made _no sense._ Tim was just the neighbor kid! He was, by definition, a burden placed upon Bruce. All because Tim couldn’t figure it out and call himself a cab. It wasn’t Bruce’s _job_ to take care of Tim. Or sit with him after a nightmare. Or make him hot chocolate.

That was _no one’s_ job. 

“I am more than happy to watch a movie with you,” Bruce said, after sighing again, “I will enjoy it.”

“But,” Tim said, swallowing as he tried to put his thoughts in order, “you need sleep for work and stuff tomorrow.” 

Batman couldn’t just _not_ sleep. 

Bruce hummed and rested his head in his hand, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, that is true. But I can _also_ call in sick, and we can both sleep late into the morning.”

_What?_

“That… that’s _lying.”_

People weren’t supposed to lie to get out of work like that! It was _work._ It wasn’t right to take days off just to laze around the house or watch _movies._

 _“_ No,” Bruce said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked at Tim, “It’s just… creative… reasoning.”

Tim scowled. 

“Okay so it’s a _little_ lying, but mental health is just as important as physical health, and if taking a day off is going to help keep you in good mental health, then there is nothing wrong with doing that,” Bruce paused, then added, “And parents are allowed to take sick time if they have to stay home with children in their care. At least, they are at my company.”

_What??_

But that’s what _staff_ was for. Mom and Dad _never_ stayed home with Tim just because he was sick. That’s why they _hired_ nannies or people like Mrs. Mac. She’d _always_ spent extra time with him when he was sick, just to make sure his fever didn’t get too high and all that kind of stuff. Mom and Dad _paid_ her to do that. 

Why on _earth_ would Bruce blow off work for stuff way _less_ serious than high fevers, when Alfred was around and was perfectly capable of taking care of them all?

And why would Tim stay home _at all?_ He _didn’t_ have a fever. He was just _tired._

“You’re really going to let me skip school tomorrow because I’m _tired?”_ Tim asked incredulously.

“Yep.” 

It was official. Bruce and the Waynes made absolutely no sense. 

_Ever._

“Come on,” Bruce said, standing up and taking his half full mug with him, “Let’s move to the theater and pick out that movie. If it doesn’t help, we can figure out what _does,_ okay?” 

“What do you mean,” Tim said, as he reluctantly picked up his own mug and followed Bruce to the ‘theater’ he was talking about. It was the tv room filled with big oversized recliners. They rarely used the room, since movie night was usually held in the living room with the huge couch that sat like twenty people. 

“Well,” Bruce said, motioning for Tim to pick a recliner as he collected up the remotes for the huge TV, “Dick usually preferred to come into my room and talk through his dreams, before he fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. Jason likes to find someone awake, if anyone _is_ awake, and talk their ear off about completely unrelated things until he tires himself out again. If no one is awake, he tends to come watch a movie by himself and I’ll find him passed out on the couch in the morning. And Damian usually just crawls into my bed, kicks me a few times as he gets comfortable, and goes to sleep without so much as a word.” 

“When they have bad dreams?” Tim clarified, because _all_ of them were definitely too old to need comfort for bad dreams, too. Did Bruce not know that? Is that why he was doing all this, he didn’t know when too old was?

“Yes. And when _I_ have bad dreams, I usually get up and find something productive to do. Work on a project, or review paperwork. Everyone has their own coping methods.” Bruce grabbed a blanket from a basket of them against the wall, and dropped one on top of Tim, who had to reposition it to not block his view.

“When _you—”_ Tim started, just to snap his mouth shut. 

Obviously adults had bad dreams, he _knew_ that. He just always thought adults could deal with them way better, since they’d learned how as little children, and could, like, roll over and go back to sleep without a second thought.

“Yes,” Bruce said, taking a seat in the recliner next to Tim, “Everyone has nightmares, Tim, and I _hate_ that you usually have to deal with yours alone.” 

Tim sank down in his chair and crossed his arms, mumbling, “I’m not a baby.”

“I know you aren’t,” Bruce said softly, as he held the remote out for Tim to take, “but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to not want to be alone.” 

“I—“ Tim said, but couldn’t figure out what else to say. He took the remote from Bruce and stared at him for a couple seconds before nodding mutely. 

He didn’t… _want…_ to be alone, sometimes. 

But… why did that mean _Bruce_ had to sit with him and watch a movie?

It still didn’t make _any_ sense. That wasn’t Bruce’s _job._ And Tim would have been fine left alone in his room. 

“Pick a movie out, Tim,” Bruce said pointedly, as he opened the leg rest on his own recliner and leaned back, “Personally I think Disney is perfect middle-of-the-night viewing, but we’ve got all sorts of things on the server, including Star Wars, if that’s your go-to.” 

Star Wars _was_ his go-to. 

Bruce _still_ made no sense, but after Tim snuggled down in the blanket and hit play on the original Star Wars, he found he didn’t particularly _care_ anymore. 

Because…

It was nice. It was really very super nice. And when Tim fell asleep not even twenty minutes into the movie, he’d forgotten all about the dream he’d had. And the crying. And the stress of it all. 

When he woke in the morning, several hours after breakfast and after the other boys had gone to school, Tim started to think maybe Bruce was on to something… 

He definitely _did_ feel better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim is such a cutie and deserves all the love 😭😭😭😭
> 
> This fic is gonna stay on the weekly schedule, but J&3T is coming off promised regular updates and is going to be on a 'when I'm done' schedule for a while. It won't be a hiatus, since I am actively working on it, I just have found the past few weeks I can't do two chapters every single week. There's just a lot going on right now. Maybe once I settle into the new routines I've had thrust on me I'll be able to find a schedule that works so both stay on regular updates. :) We'll see. There are some cute freaking scenes coming up in that fic. Damian starts acting like a brother to Attie, even if he doesn't fully realize that's what he's doing 😭 and Jason does the same for Mara. 😭😭😭 I love those children so much. 
> 
> Anywayyyyyy thanks for reading!!! <3 you guys!!!


	16. Bruce

The more Bruce got to know Tim, the more he grew to hate the Drakes. 

Learning that Tim, at ten, had been used to calming himself, comforting himself, after nightmares and likely everything else that upset him, had been enough to make Bruce want to pay the Drakes a visit as Batman that evening.

It was probably good they were on the opposite side of the world, if only for Tim’s sake. How would the Drakes react to Tim ‘telling lies’ about them?

Even though Tim rarely spoke of them. It was in how he _didn’t_ talk about them, and didn’t _understand_ care and concern or basic rules for safety most families had, like not sneaking out at night, that told Bruce everything he needed to know about the parenting skills of Jack and Janet Drake. 

They certainly weren’t helping their case by barely interacting with Tim while he was in Bruce’s care, either. Bruce had taken peeks at Tim’s texts, whenever the boy had it open in front of Bruce. They barely texted him. Bruce only hoped they called, but he highly doubted it.

He’d be willing to bet his texts updating them on Tim’s progress in school, or even sharing some of his cooler photographs were the most they’d heard about Tim in _years._ That is, if the boy’s nannies had ever kept them updated like that, then. 

They sure as hell weren’t seeking out information about their son, themselves. 

Regardless. Their apparent neglect only made Bruce’s decision to let him in on the secret easier. 

Because Jason was right. Tim had no one to blabber to. And he kept to himself so well, Bruce had no doubt he’d be able to keep a secret. That boy was nothing _but_ secrets. He didn’t seem used to sharing anything at all. Ever. 

Bruce wasn’t going to seek him out and tell him. Not yet, at least. But if Tim so happened to find out, well. Bruce didn’t care. 

And once he figured out how to get the girl to come with them, he’d make sure Tim knew for sure. 

Mostly because it would be unfair to everyone to try and keep so many secrets from Tim while they worked on integrating the little girl.

Because integrating her was what they’d have to do… There was no way she’d adapt to normal family life just because she was dropped in a house. 

They’d seen her several more times since the ‘lollipop incident.’ 

Every time she started out cautious. Guarded. Then inched her way over to Bruce and pointed at his belt. Bruce had been confused, the first time, until Dick said with a chuckle, “She wants another lollipop.”

The delighted little face she made the first time, when Bruce handed her two, had been enough to make Batman smile fully at her.

She was quite the violent little kid, though. 

It had been just over two weeks since their first encounter with her, and she’d seemed to make it her habit to follow them every night. 

Batman, specifically, but she no longer seemed scared to show herself in front of the others. That night, all of them had worked together to bust a smuggling ring that had been mostly dealing in exotic animals. 

The case was interesting enough for Selina to actually help with the entire thing, so all four of them were at the shipyard when they attacked the henchmen and went about dismantling the operation. 

Everything was going as expected, until it wasn’t.

Batman hadn’t been outnumbered, per se. Well, not _outmatched,_ but there were a _few_ more men than they anticipated.

By about twenty.

Which had not been a huge deal, until the little girl dropped down from where she’d been hiding atop a pile of shipping crates, and started going crazy on some of the henchmen.

None of them noticed her, Bruce was a little ashamed to admit. Not instantly, at least, save Nightwing.

When he grunted out, “Crap, little girl, no,” Bruce’s attention snapped up.

And sure enough, there was the little assassin, hanging off the back of a henchman as he choked him out.

Even though she seemed to be holding her own, they all started fighting harder. A little faster.

She was impressive. She jumped from thug to thug with such grace, Bruce would have otherwise enjoyed _watching_ it. 

Had he not been so damned concerned she was _doing it at all._

“Sweetheart,” he said gruffly, trying not to despair at how several of the thugs had turned their attention to her, “We’ve got it.” 

He had to curse himself, though, because she did not understand language. And why would telling her they had a handle on it when they hadn’t _entirely_ had a handle on it work? Even if she _could_ understand him, she wouldn’t _believe_ him.

The little girl drew a knife, and jammed it into the shoulder of the man she was currently wrestling. When he went down, screaming in agony, she flipped off him and jumped over to another man. 

Bruce had to bite his tongue to keep the curses from coming out his mouth, as he elbowed one of his guys in the face, and then slammed two other men’s heads together, knocking them all out. They needed to finish up and get this _done,_ before the little girl got hurt.

Or before she hurt someone too badly. 

How the hell did he tell a child with no language ‘don’t kill them?’

And, on that note, how on earth did the league give her missions?

“Batman you’ve got to figure her out,” Batgirl said, as they were cleaning up the last few men. They’d all turned a little more vicious, just to get as many men down as possible. 

A lot of them would require medical attention, and Bruce knew Gordon wouldn’t be entirely happy about that, but in the end he didn’t particularly care. 

They’d been protecting the little girl. 

“I know,” he grumbled, as he started zip tying all the men around him, so even if they did come to before the police arrived, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

“Jaybird,” he said into his comm, “how are you on reporting all this?” He’d asked Jason to call in the crime once they had the thugs almost fully subdued, and left it up to him to decide when _almost fully subdued_ meant. He was trying to back off and let Jason lead himself on his tasks, but at times it was difficult. 

At least Jason seemed engrossed in the work, because he wasn’t chattering endlessly in his ear. 

“ _Working on it. I’m on the line with GCPD right now.”_

“Good.” The less he had to worry about, the better. 

Especially since now he had this little girl to deal with.

The little girl skipped over to Batman and cocked her head curiously, watching as Bruce handcuffed several of the men together, attaching the last in the line to a poll. After she’d watched for a moment and looked around, taking in how everyone was doing the same task, she held her hand out demandingly to Batman.

Nightwing snorted when Batman gave her a handful of zip ties and guided her through affixing a set around a thug’s wrists. He showed her how to attach him to another thug, and pointed at different solid unmovable things in the environment, hoping she’d understand to attach them to _something_ or _someone,_ so they could not easily escape once they woke up.

She took right to the task and bounced around, securing seven of the men herself by the time they were done.

“Good job,” Batman said, hoping his body language was conveying the sentiment.

The little girl brightened up in response. Even if he couldn’t see her smile under her mask, it was there in her eyes, and he could see she’d understood the praise. 

“Batgirl and I can handle the cops,” Nightwing said, motioning with his head for Batman to get out of there, “We’ll coordinate with Jaybird.” 

Batman nodded. He certainly didn’t want to explain their unexpected pint-sized helper to anyone. Especially not Jim Gordon, so he held a hand out to the little girl, waving her toward them. 

She blinked, then looked back at Nightwing before she moved to Batman’s side, allowing him to lead them away from the shipyard, with Catwoman following behind them.

Bruce picked a building with an easily accessible fire escape, so the little girl could climb up to the roof herself. He would have no trouble grappling her up, but he wasn’t sure if she trusted him enough for that. Of if she’d even understand why he was picking her up. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t just load her into your car and take her home,” Catwoman said, as she pulled herself up on the roof. The little girl was half way up the fire escape, but didn’t seem to be in any particular rush. 

Taking her home was exactly what he wanted to do, if only for her _safety,_ but that wasn’t how it worked. “I can’t just kidnap her,” he grumbled, “She has to consent.” 

“I’m sure she’d follow you willingly. She followed you here.” 

The little girl pulled herself up on the roof, then bounded over to where Batman and Catwoman were standing. She looked so… innocent. And carefree, in that moment. 

Just a little kid, curiously exploring the place an adult brought her. 

Bruce wished more than _anything_ he could just bring her home, right then. Let her be that innocent, carefree child all the time. 

“She wouldn’t understand what she’s agreeing to,” he said solemnly, “That would be kidnapping.” How would she react, even if he _did_ manage to get her in his car. How would he explain to her that she was going to live with him? With his family? Would she even understand what _family_ meant?

Selina shot Bruce an exasperated look, and Bruce just pinched the bridge of his nose. 

They needed… they needed to figure out a way to communicate. 

He turned to her and looked down. She was just slightly taller than Jason, he figured. Absolutely tiny, in other words, because poor Jason was _not_ catching up to his age group in height. 

This girl was ten or eleven, for sure.

“Hi,” he said, kneeling down in front of her, just barely stopping himself from placing his hands on her shoulders, when she cut her eyes to his hands frantically. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he tried again, backing off a touch, and softening his posture, “I’m Batman.” 

Often, when hearing someone speak in a foreign tongue, it was easy to pick out when they were introducing themselves simply based on the inflection of their voice. 

Although, he thought belatedly, without language, she might not understand the concept of introduction in the first place… 

He smiled and pointed at himself as he repeated, “Batman,” in hopes that she’d catch on that the set of sounds meant _him._

If she could figure out who _he_ was, maybe she’d be able to tell him who _she_ was. 

“Batman,” he said again, slowly, still pointing at himself. 

Her forehead scrunched as she stared at his lips, watched them move.

“Batman,” he kept repeating.

She reached up and pulled her mask down, so Bruce could see her full face for the first time. 

The only thought that went through his head was, ‘ _She’s a beautiful little girl_.’

Beautiful and downright filthy. She looked like she hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. He _really_ hoped that was just because she was currently on a mission, and not because she didn’t know _how._

Selina and or Barbara would hopefully help out with that, if it were the later issue…

He _really_ didn’t want that to be the issue, but he also didn’t want her to be currently living on the streets… 

When she tried to mouth, ‘Batman,’ he smiled and repeated the word again, still pointing at himself. 

All she did was move her lips and frown, placing her fingers on her face as she moved her lips. 

She didn’t understand.

Perhaps, not even the concept of talking…

_How was she going to tell him her name, if she didn’t know what speaking was?_

Bruce looked up to where Selina was sitting atop the AC unit for guidance. Perhaps some sort of suggestion, but Selina merely shrugged at him.

The little girl turned around and looked at Catwoman, then back at Batman, one eyebrow knit in and her lips pursed. 

Even without language, Bruce could hear her saying, “What?” loud and clear. 

So, good. She could communicate. 

Getting her to understand words were a _thing_ shouldn’t be too difficult…

Holding a finger up, asking the girl to wait, Bruce dug into his pockets to pull out a lollipop. 

She brightened instantly, and held a hand out to take it, but Bruce pulled it back, so she couldn’t. Whatever she saw in the action flipped her from open and curious to wary and guarded.

Bruce wasn’t sure how to fix that, so he pressed on with his plan.

“Lollipop,” he said, pointing at the treat. After pointing back at himself, he repeated, “Batman.” 

The little girl looked back at his face, and as Bruce repeated the two words, pointing back and forth between himself and the lollipop, her eyes grew wide.

She moved her lips, then, a little hastily. It looked like she was trying to say ‘Batman,’ but she put none of her voice into it. Didn’t even breathe out. 

He _knew_ she had a voice. She had growled at him. Grunted. Perhaps she simply had not connected her own vocal chords to the sounds Bruce was making. 

Another attempt at saying, ‘Batman,’ resulted in her mouthing the word, a little more accurately, but still no sound. 

So Bruce slowly and gently reached out for her hand, pausing a few inches away, allowing her to decide if she was going to let him hold it. After she scrutinized him for a second, she hesitantly placed her hand in his, and watched as he pulled it toward his neck.

“Batman,” he said again, with her hand placed right over his vocal chords, allowing her to feel the vibration there. He repeated the word several more times, then moved her hand to her own throat, so she could feel her own vocal chords. 

Surely she’d had screaming fits in the past, and would remember how to make her throat vibrate in the same way. 

Understanding blossomed in her eyes, and Bruce could laugh, a happy, joyous laugh. 

Instead, he repeated, “Batman,” again, encouraging her to try. 

And. 

She did.

It came out more like “ama” than “Batman,” but it was an attempt. And it was sound. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, a little wetly as he smiled wide at her, “That’s right. Batman.” 

“Aahh-p” she said, pointing at the lollipop in Bruce’s hand. 

“Lollipop,” he repeated, handing her the treat this time when she repeated her very butchered version of the word. 

They would definitely need to hire a speech pathologist. Get someone with professional training to teach her how to form her lips and use her tongue to make the proper sounds. 

For now, though? ‘Aahh-p’ was plenty close enough to the actual word. It was far more than she could say ten minutes prior. 

The girl repeated the two words a few more times, then paused. Her face went slack as she stared at Batman for a solid few seconds, clearly absolutely lost in thought over _something._

If only Bruce knew _how_ she thought, communicating might be easier. 

Although, it probably was not too difficult to figure that out. If she didn’t know language, it was likely she thought in pictures. Pictures and feeling and emotions. 

How complex could thought get, with only pictures and emotions to guide it?

Frantically, almost desperately, the little girl dug her knife out and shook it, holding it out for Batman to see. When he didn’t say anything, she placed her lollipop in her pocket and pointed at the knife, looking up at Batman expectantly. 

“Knife,” he said, hoping that was what she was asking. 

“Eyef,” she repeated, clutching the knife tightly in her hand, “eyef, aahh-p, ama.” 

“Yes, knife, lollipop, Batman.” 

That seemed to do the trick, because Bruce could practically see the concept _click._ It had been _years_ since he last experienced a new, novel idea click in a child so visibly. 

And that had been with Damian. 

Back when he was barely a year old, and had figured out that pressing a button on a Christmas decoration caused it to sing and dance. That had been the moment ‘cause and effect’ truly clicked with him, and it had been fascinating to be looking into his eyes when he made the connection. 

It was no less fascinating watching this little girl grasp onto the concept of _words._

Or, more specifically, _nouns._

After that, she started bouncing around the roof, pointing to all the objects she could find. 

Plant. 

Ball. 

Shoe. 

Broom. 

Door. 

When she stopped in front of Selina, she paused and considered her for a moment, then pointed at Selina, her attention back on Bruce. 

“Catwoman,” he answered, wondering what had her tripped up. 

She butchered the word, as she had every other word, but pointed at Selina and repeated it a couple times. 

Then, she turned to Batman and pointed at herself. 

Bruce… didn’t know what to say. 

He shook his head and knelt down, trying his best to convey _I don’t know,_ and not _there isn’t one._

Because… he didn’t want to think about the possibility that there _wasn’t_ a name for her. 

The way her face absolutely _fell_ told Bruce she _hadn’t_ understood what he wanted her to. 

“Batman,” he said quickly, pointing at himself. He turned his finger around and pointed it at her, and shook his head again, shrugging in a vague ‘I don’t know’ gesture. 

It didn’t help. 

Her sad eyes were too much for him to handle. 

Even if she _did_ have a name, she clearly didn’t know it, so giving her a _new_ one wasn’t going to hurt her. 

He felt a little strange, naming a stranger’s child. He’d never had the opportunity to name his _own_ children, except for Damian’s middle name. Which he never got to use unless he was fussing at the boy. 

Well…

They’d _almost_ had the opportunity to name a child. 

Once. 

Looking up at Selina, he wondered if she’d mind. They’d never made it to the ‘discuss names’ stage, but he’d picked out his favorite names in both categories already. 

And the name he’d picked out for a little girl would fit _this_ little girl perfectly. 

Selina smiled, as if she was reading his mind, and nodded her head once. Of course she didn’t mind. She was _Selina._

Pointing his finger at the little girl again, he smiled and said, “Cassandra.” 

_Cassandra_ grinned widely and repeated her name back at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She has a nameeeeeeeeee!!!
> 
> If y'all didn't see, I posted a one shot in this series. It's about Jason and set during Precedent, so if you want more baby jay being adorable and bonding with Damian, check it out. :D (just hit next work in series)
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me when I'm late and reading and commenting and everything! <3 you guys! :D


	17. Bruce

Cassandra sought them out every night after that. Instead of trailing him for a while, like Bruce suspected she had been doing before, she immediately joined him in whatever he was doing, regardless of who was with him.

Sometimes, it was downright exasperating. He did _not_ like the idea of small children risking their lives in battle. And while Cassandra was incredibly skilled and adept at hand to hand combat, it still made him nervous every time she jumped a thug. 

Her violent streak wasn’t helping much, either. 

But in the four nights since she said her first word, Cassandra hadn’t injured anyone _too badly._ And she seemed completely uninterested in killing anyone. 

Not quite what Bruce expected out of a child raised by the League of Assassins, but he was not, at all, complaining. 

Perhaps he’d misjudged _where_ she came from. 

They’d spent most that night breaking up petty crimes. Strong arm robberies. Assaults. A couple grand theft autos. Nothing too graphic, nothing too difficult. Because it was a slow night Bruce sent Jason on to bed. The boy had a ‘major’ test in history the next day, and reminding him of that fact was enough to get him in bed without complaint. 

Bruce seriously loved how huge a nerd Jason was. 

Selina, Cassandra, and Bruce decided to finish the night off with burgers. Mostly, Bruce wanted them to feed Cassandra. Just in case baths weren’t the only thing she had no access to. _Selina_ wanted Bruce to just bring her home and let Alfred feed her, but burgers had been the easier option. Especially after Bruce had asked, “Cassandra do you want to come live with me,” and Cassandra had said nothing in return. 

That hadn’t amused Selina _near_ as much as it had Bruce. 

But that’s how they found themselves sitting on the edge of a roof, pulling out burgers to eat with Cassandra sitting between them. 

“Food,” Bruce said, as he unwrapped a burger for Cassandra. 

“Oo,” Cassandra repeated, grabbing the burger before Bruce even held it out to her. 

“Eat,” he said, the second Cassandra took a bite. There were a handful of verbs Bruce wanted to teach her, but teaching verbs seemed like a more difficult task than nouns. At least with nouns he could just point at the object. He wasn’t sure how to connect an _action_ with a word.

Cassandra looked at him with contempt, and continued eating her burger. 

“Okay, I’ll let you eat, then,” Batman said, as he handed Selina one of the two other burgers. 

Selina smiled and said, “I like her. I’d be annoyed if you kept jabbering when I just wanted to enjoy my burger, too.” 

“Don’t talk. Got it.” 

They ate in silence for another minute or so. Mostly because it only took Cassandra that long to finish her burger.

The girl had absolutely no table manners. 

Alfred was going to have a conniption just over her eating with her mouth open, Bruce knew. And that wasn’t even mentioning how she absolutely scarfed down her food, like it was _going_ somewhere. 

Jason had scarfed down that first burger Bruce got him, but that had been because the poor boy was _starving._ Cassandra at least _looked_ well fed. He… he hoped she wasn’t presently starving, anyway. 

Once they all finished their burgers, Bruce dug out the fries and tried to really focus on the word ‘eat’ with her. The burger had been _huge._ One of those ‘third pound’ monstrosities, so he wasn’t concerned Cassandra was _still_ starving. 

Really, the burger itself should have been more than enough to fill her up. So using the fries as rewards for speaking was fine.

Probably.

“Eat,” he said, again, after she’d repeated ‘food’ at him and taken the fry from his hand. “Food,” he said again, picking up a fry and pointing at it, then when it placed it in his own mouth, he said “Eat.” 

Cassandra scowled, but then said, “ee,” holding her hand out demandingly at Batman. 

They spent about five minutes really working on the concept, Cassandra getting more and more agitated with Bruce. 

Especially when he tried to show her how to place her tongue on the top of her mouth to make the ’t’ sound by over exaggerating the motion himself.

It took coaxing, but Cassandra finally clicked her tongue at him, then said rather frustratedly, “oo, ee,” while holding her hand out again for more fries.

With a laugh, Bruce handed her the entire container. “Good job. That’s good work, Cassandra. We can be done now.” 

“Do I have to say ‘food’ and ‘eat’ to get some fries, too?” Selina asked, smirking at him. 

“Something like that.”

“Shut up and give me fries.” 

Cassandra watched curiously as Bruce passed another box of fries to Selina, then pulled his own box out. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, fully aware she wouldn’t answer him. 

She looked up at him, though, and smiled a little as she kept eating her fries. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Selina said, after a moment had passed.

“Yeah, I’m aware.” 

Selina laughed at that. A loud, belly laugh, that startled Cassandra a little. She smiled brightly, however, once she got a good look at Selina, and turned back to Bruce with that gorgeous smile on her face. 

“You don’t even deny it,” Selina finally said, once she’d got control over herself, “Although how could you? Someone sent an assassin after you and you adopted her.” 

How could he deny it? He was _aware_ of what he was doing. He _realized_ how ridiculous it was, seeing a child and just deciding she was his child now. “We don’t know that for sure.” 

“Suppose not. You just can’t help yourself, though. Adopting every cute kid you see.” 

Bruce grinned. At least, he smiled as much as he dared did while in the cowl. “I can think of several cute kids I haven’t adopted.” There was Tim, most notably. At the manor right that moment, most certainly _not_ adopted by Bruce. 

“Fine,” she conceded, “Cute _orphans.”_

“Do you have a problem—“ Bruce started, but was interrupted by Cassandra. 

“Ee _t,”_ she said, emphasizing the ’t’ sound. 

“Are you still hungry?” he asked, looking back down at the little girl, who was staring at him expectantly. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “That was very good speaking,” and offered her his own box of fries. 

Greedily, she took it and started to devour them, as well. 

“She reminds me of Jaybird,” Bruce said, watching how she ate. It hadn’t taken _terribly_ long to teach Jason it was okay to eat only until full, because there was _always_ going to be food there for him later. But the idea of family and adults providing for him hadn’t been entirely foreign to him. 

There was no telling what concepts were foreign to this little girl. 

“Drink,” Selina said, when Cassandra snatched her soda a moment later and started drinking it. 

Cassandra glanced at her, but kept sipping it. 

“Drink,” Bruce repeated, taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Re,” Cassandra grumbled, scowling hard at both Bruce and Selina, before she turned her attention back to her fries. 

“Wow, she’s learned a lot in a few days,” Nightwing said, _not_ startling Batman. 

Because he had _definitely_ been paying attention to his surroundings. And had noticed his eldest land on the roof behind him. 

“She’s a smart kid,” Bruce agreed, turning so he was facing both Nightwing and Batgirl, since both of them had decided to crash the dinner party. “Cassandra,” he prompted, getting her attention almost instantly. Pointing at Nightwing, he said, “Nightwing.” 

All she did was glance at Nightwing, then back at Batman, so he repeated, “Nightwing.” 

Cassandra blinked. Then continued to stare at Batman. He couldn’t tell if she _got_ it, and was just done learning new words for the day, or if she didn’t _care_ what Nightwing’s name was. 

“Batgirl,” he tried, pointing over at Barbara. 

At that, Cassandra blinked again, much more alert. “Ama,” she said, pointing at Batman. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, smiling, “Batman, Batgirl. Two bats.” 

“Ama,” she repeated, turning back to her stolen soda to drink more. 

Bruce couldn’t help but be amused. _Done_ was apparently what she was. He couldn’t quite blame her. Learning new things was _exhausting,_ and they kept throwing more and more at her. If she’d spent her entire life not using her voice, it’s likely she’d tire out quickly, as well. 

Just as Bruce was content to sit with Cassandra and everyone else, allowing her to simply enjoy the peace, Cassandra’s eyes went wide and she jumped up, knocking the empty fry box off the edge of the roof in the process. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but then he took a good look at her and he could see a touch of _excitement_ in her eyes. “What is it?”

She grabbed his hand and tugged, forcing him to stand up as well. Once on his feet, she started to drag him, only letting go once it was clear Batman was following. 

“Where are you going?” Nightwing asked, watching in amusement as Batman followed Cassandra across the roof and to the opposite edge. 

“I have no idea,” he responded honestly. 

All four of them followed her, after that. They jumped roofs for three buildings, then descended to the ground where Cassandra wound them through alleys. The further they went, the more uneasy Bruce felt. Because Cassandra was leading them far away from the ‘safer’ part of Gotham, where they’d taken her to eat their late night dinner. 

The warehouse district near the docks was, apparently, their destination. Because once they got there, Cassandra brought them straight to a warehouse. She climbed up the wall, impressing Bruce with her skills, and slipped in through a broken window, after looking down to ensure Batman had followed. 

“Well this is fun,” Nightwing said, watching as Batman sighed, then made his way up to the window. 

“Being led into traps _is_ fun,” Batgirl said, and Bruce simply sighed _louder._

He doubted Cassandra was leading them into a trap. 

Not… knowingly. Of course. 

With a quick scan of the building for other heat signatures, however, Batman said a quick, “All clear,” into the comms so the others would know the building was empty, except for Cassandra. 

Once inside, Batman watched as Cassandra quickly scaled the rafters and made her way up to the very top of the roof’s support structure. She struggled with something, for a second, then sent it toppling to the ground in a cloud of dirt and dust. 

Or, rather. Wafting. Almost. 

Because she’d thrown a blanket onto the ground. 

Cassandra quickly climbed back down, then jumped straight to the ground from _much_ too high up. Bruce didn’t even have time to tell her ‘no,’ before she was finishing her landing with a roll, and bouncing back onto her feet. 

“Be careful,” he mumbled, looking _forward_ to the day she _understood_ what that even meant. 

The others slowly entered the building, each one taking up a different task of checking to ensure it was clear, while Bruce continued watching Cassandra. 

She went and retrieved the blanket from where she’d thrown it, then shook it off and carried it over to Bruce, all balled up in her arms. 

It was… actually adorable. Because it looked to be like a _queen sized_ blanket, very oversized for the tiny little girl holding it. 

Once she reached Batman, she dropped the blanket on the ground, all except for one corner, which she kept in her hand. She held it up, and showed it to Bruce, then stared at him expectantly. 

“Blanket,” he said, hoping that’s what she wanted. 

Had she honestly brought him all the way across town just to tell her the name of her blanket?

Looking around again, he felt a little pit form in his stomach. 

She’d had a blanket hidden in the rafters, here. She _liked_ the blanket enough that she wanted to know what its word was. 

Was… was this honestly where she had been living?

All this time? In this abandoned warehouse? In probably the _least_ safe area in all of Gotham? 

Alone?

Well, he’d kind of figured she was alone, but at the same time, he’d _hoped_ the League had safe houses. And she was staying in a safe house. With _food._ And _shelter._

It was _winter,_ and a drafty, unheated warehouse was _no place_ for a child. Even with a blanket as large as the one she had. 

He needed to find a way to communicate with her, because she was coming home with him _that night._

Maybe he would just have to ‘kidnap’ her, like Selina had suggested. Surely she wouldn’t freak out too much, if he showed her a bedroom with a warm bed… 

Kneeling down, Bruce smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders. When she didn’t so much as twitch, his smile widened. 

_Come with me,_ he tried his best to project. To make his body scream. _I want you to come with me._ He tugged on her shoulders, ever so slightly. Not enough to actually move her, but enough to convey the message more.

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head, staring at Bruce. All he could see in there was confusion. 

Grabbing onto a corner of the blanket, he picked it up and handed it to Cassandra, pressing it into her hands as he nodded enthusiastically. _I will give you blankets. Come with me._ Was what he wanted her to understand. 

He’d give her far more than blankets, too. 

“Batman,” Batgirl said, just as Cassandra’s eyes went wide and she _jumped._ Looking at something behind Bruce. She dropped the blanket and hastily put her mask back on, from where she’d had it off most the night. Ever since they stopped to eat dinner. 

“Beloved,” Talia said, just as Batman whirled around. Talia raised an eyebrow at Cassandra, who had frozen in place, now behind Bruce. 

Before Bruce responded, Cassandra scrambled around him and over to Talia where she… bowed. Before her. 

Bruce couldn’t help his growl. 

It startled Cassandra, his growl. He could _tell,_ but not because she jumped. Or even flinched. No. She remained stock still, at Talia’s side. Stiff, even, in how she was holding herself, like she thought any movement at all would bring her harm. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nightwing and Batgirl ready position on either side of him, a good ten feet away. Standing there, just waiting. And based on the rustle behind him, Selina was approaching from behind, being intentionally loud enough so not to startle anyone. Likely _him._ Since she always got into overprotective mode, whenever _Talia_ was a concern. 

If he weren’t staring at Talia right in front of him, he’d probably smile at the thought of anyone being overprotective of _him._ Especially Selina.

But he didn’t have time to think about any of that. There were much more pressing matters at hand.

“Cassandra,” he said, gently, earning her attention. In her eyes, he could see the pure terror she was feeling. And the confusion. 

She hadn’t been expecting Talia, was all Bruce could think about. 

That, and _she’s terrified of Talia._

“Cassandra?” Talia said, looking down at the little girl when Cass snapped her attention to Talia, “You’ve named it?”

“It?” Batgirl demanded, louder than everyone else’s objections, “The hell do you think you are?”

Talia ignored her, though, and stepped towards Bruce, scoffing, “You _have_ to stop picking up every piece of filth you find.” 

When Talia was only two steps from Bruce, and acting like she was going to walk up to him and run her hand across his chest, Selina stepped in front of him and scowled. 

The two of them stared at each other for a tense moment. 

“I thought you said jealousy was not attractive,” Talia drawled.

Selina scoffed and said, “It’s not jealousy that wants you to back off.”

Holding her hand up, Talia examined her nails and said, “Yes, well,” and that was it. She continued to stand there, as she started cleaning her nails.

Bruce hadn’t the slightest clue _what_ she was doing, but he did know Cassandra was standing next to her, looking no less scared, but perhaps a _lot_ more confused.

“Cassandra,” he said again. When she looked up at him, he motioned for her to come closer. 

“Honestly, beloved,” Talia scoffed, “You are not supposed to name wild animals.” 

“Oh fuck you, lady,” Babs said.

“You’re the animal for not teaching a child _language,”_ Nightwing added.

Stepping forward, Bruce hesitantly reached out and just barely grasped onto Cassandra’s sleeve and tugged. She looked at him frantically, then up at Talia, who was still messing with her nails. Cleaning them out with her knife, actually. 

What was even the _point_ of this confrontation?

He tugged at Cassandra’s sleeve again, and this time she let him pull her away. She looked up at Talia, as if waiting to see what her reaction would be, but Talia didn’t even spare her a second glance. 

Bruce pushed Cassandra behind him, and did his best to tell her to _stay,_ he was going to protect her. 

“I had nothing to do with her training,” Talia finally said, looking back up at Bruce, still not paying Cassandra any mind, “She is Cain’s project.” 

“ _David_ Cain?” Bruce asked, a little shocked to hear the name of one of his old trainers. Although, Cain was _crazy._ He would not put it past him to train children like this. “ _He’s_ her trainer?”

“Father, too,” Talia answered, and now that Bruce knew to look for it, he was a little horrified to see the resemblance to Cain Cassandra had.

“I am not the only one who sought to hone the perfect weapon through offspring,” Talia continued, “Although why Cain thinks _his_ is the superior seed, I haven’t the slightest clue.” 

Right.

It was the whole damn League of Assassins that was _insane._ He wanted to say he should have never got involved in the first place, but then he wouldn’t have Damian. Or Cassandra, he supposed. 

Hopefully he _had_ Cassandra, now. 

Like _hell_ was he going to return her to David Cain. 

Two children, specifically ‘bred’ to be weapons for the League.

 _Both_ were his now. 

“If you’ve come to appeal our visitation agreement,” Bruce said dryly, “calling him a weapon is not helping your case.”

 _No visitation_ was most definitely how it was going to remain. 

Although Talia probably knew that was the case. 

Which is why the next thing she said came as absolutely no surprise to Bruce. 

“Please. I am here to _distract_ you while my men take Damian.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No proofing, we die like Jason. 🙃. (aka I'll proof it later)
> 
> Sorry for the cliff hanger D: See you next week! 😂
> 
> Also, Talia is evil in this series so like.... yeah. I didn't ruin her character, DC did. 🤷🏼♀️ I wrote good mom Talia in [Second Chance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472841) and tried-her-best-mom Talia in [Jason and the Three Terrors.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328314/chapters/53336047) It's like there are 5 different characters all named Talia, tbh. Kinda like how it is with Bruce. LOL 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! I loved all your comments last chapter, they made my week!! I'm so excited about what's to come. :D


	18. Jason

The dog was barking.

It took Jason a second to pull himself out of sleep. It was still only two, probably. Two or three. There was no way he’d been asleep very long. Bruce probably wasn’t even home yet. 

_The dog was barking._

Sluggishly, he forced his eyes opened and stared at the clock on his end table. 

2:43am. 

Why the fuck was the dog barking at two fucking forty-three am? 

Ace’s bark sounded frantic. Like it did when the UPS driver approached the front door. He was just a dog, and didn’t understand when Alfred said, “hush, Ace, we know he’s there. I’ve buzzed him in.” All Ace knew was someone was approaching the house, and he was not fond of people he didn’t know approaching the house. 

Jason’s eyes snapped open again. 

It was still 2:43.

_The dog was still barking._

Throwing the covers off him, Jason stumbled out of bed and slammed his bedroom door open. Ace was in Damian’s room, somewhere deep inside it, and his barks had turned to growls. 

“Damian,” Jason panted, when he pushed Damian’s door open, causing it to slam against the wall, too. 

If the dog hadn’t been making such a ruckus already, he was positive Alfred or Bruce would have scolded him for that. 

“What’s wrong, Ace?” Damian said, from where he was sitting up in bed, clutching tightly to his blanket.

Ace continued growling at the window. The right most window out of Damian’s three. 

“Alfred,” Jason shouted, hoping Alfred was _somewhere_ around them, and not down in the cave. He knew Alfred’s room was on the floor above them, so it was probable he’d already heard Ace barking. 

Jason jumped when all three of Damian’s windows exploded at the same time. Damian screamed, and Ace jumped back, as well, his tail between his legs as he barked a couple more times between his growls. 

“Alfred,” he screamed again, running over to Damian and grabbing his hand. Whatever was happening, obviously they had to get Damian _out of there._

Before Jason was able to drag Damian off the bed, however, _ninjas_ invaded the bedroom. 

Like, real life, actual ninjas. Decked out in all black, their faces obscured, with _swords_ on their backs. _Five_ of them.

They… they were the League of Assassins. Jason _knew_ Bruce and themfraternizing with that assassin girl was _a terrible idea._

Now they were attacking the manor!

The following minutes took an eternity to pass.

Ace lunged at the first ninja in the room, and bit the guy’s arm, soliciting a loud grunt from the man. 

Jason tried to use their momentary distraction to pull Damian, but then a gun fired, and Ace collapsed down with a whimper. 

“Ace,” Damian screamed, shaking himself of Jason’s hands. 

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit. 

They needed to get _out of there._

Where the fuck was Alfred?

_Why were there ninjas in Damian’s bedroom?_

Two ninjas crossed the room toward Damian’s bed, so Jason grabbed Damian’s arm again and pulled him successfully, this time, getting Damian down on the floor, behind the bed. 

Still clutching Damian’s arm tightly, he started toward the bedroom door. Before they’d made it three steps, one of the ninjas jumped over Damian’s bed and shoved Jason from behind.

_Hard._

With a grunt, Jason landed on the ground, just barely catching himself the way Bruce always made him practice. On his forearms, with his hands in fists. He rolled, then bounced up on his feet and lunged at one of the two ninjas, who was now roughly grabbing at Damian’s arm. 

It was pathetic, how easily the ninjas pushed Jason aside for a second time. With just a swat of his arm, Jason was sent stumbling back to the ground. 

“Let go,” Damian shouted, as he fought against the two trying to drag him toward the window. He kicked at one of the ninjas, as he screamed, loud and high. 

The ninjas had already crossed half the room, even with Damian putting up such a stink. He _couldn’t_ let them take his little brother. 

He would never, _ever_ forgive himself.

“Hey,” Jason shouted, pushing himself back to his feet, “Put him down, what’s your fucking _problem.”_

The three other ninjas were standing by the windows, and when Jason started running at the ninjas again, they turned their attention to Jason, sending a spike of anxiety shoot through him.

Then he realized, they weren’t looking at _him._ They were looking at the room’s doorway. 

Jason glanced back, hoping it was Alfred standing there with his shotgun, and was horrified to see little Tim Drake, both his hands on either side of the doorframe, his jaw dropped.

Now they’d gone and dragged the innocent little neighbor kid into whatever the fuck was going on. Ninjas kidnapping Damian. 

Why the _fuck_ were ninjas kidnapping Damian!!

Tim snapped his jaw shut and locked eyes with Jason as he asked, “Is Bruce back yet?”

No, Jason didn’t say. He wished he’d made Bruce train him harder. If he were as skilled as Dick had been at his age, he’d be able to take out these five assholes all by himself. 

Instead, he was helpless. All he knew were hold breaks and basic self defense. Hold breaks and basic self defense was _useless_ when faced with fucking _assassins_ trying to kidnap his brother for who knew what! _Bruce_ was supposed to protect them from this shit, but _Bruce wasn’t back yet._

Bruce wasn’t there.

_“Are you listening,” Bruce had said, exasperated Jason was not taking their surprise 4am invasion drill seriously._

_“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, waving a hand at Bruce, while he kept toying with the buttons on the zeta. Bruce had it in practice mode, so pressing buttons did nothing. It was kind of fun. They lit up._

_“If you’re ever in immediate danger and I’m not around, or I can’t help for whatever reason, shout for Superman.”_

_Jason paused, and blinked. “What?”_

_“Scream his name,” Bruce confirmed, “Scream it over and over. He’ll hear, and he’ll come.”_

_“Superman can hear us from fucking Kansas?”_

_“Superman can hear us from space.”_

“Superman,” Jason screamed, as loud as he possibly could, causing Tim to jump, “Superman, help!” 

Realization dawned on Damian’s face, too, as he started screaming, “Superman,” as loud as he could. 

One of the ninjas covered Damian’s mouth, then cursed when Damian bit him. 

They’d got Damian to the windows now, and Jason panicked a little. “ _Now,_ Superman,” he shouted, “They’re kidnapping Damian!”

Jason was just about to run across the room and try one last ditch effort to beat up the ninjas, when one of them turned to him and pulled out his gun.

The one they’d used to shoot Ace.

Fuck. _Ace._

_Where was Superman?_

He looked wide eyed as the gun was pointed at _him,_ and scrambled sideways, so his body was at least blocking Tim from it. If they were gonna kill Jason, fine, but they had to leave the neighbor kid alone. He had nothing to do with whatever this was between them and the League of Assassins.

_Bruce said Superman would help them!_

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuc-

A rush of air made Jason close his eyes. 

When he opened them, not even half a second later, all five ninjas were lying on the ground, unconscious. Damian had been freed, and was now standing right in the middle of the pile of ninjas, looking a little ruffled but completely unharmed. And Superman was knelt down next to Ace, feeling at his neck. 

Jason could cry for how relieved he was. 

“Superman,” Tim breathed, still standing right behind Jason. 

Damian stumbled over to Superman, and cried, “Clark, they killed Ace.” 

Clark held an arm out to Damian, and pulled him to his side when Damian leaned closer. Damian devolved into tears as Clark held him. “No, they didn’t, son,” Clark soothed, “it was just a tranq gun. He’s only asleep.” 

“You promise?” Damian croaked, still an absolute mess of tears and sniffling. 

“Yep,” Clark said, “Go ahead, pet him. You’ll feel him breathing.” 

While Damian slid down out of Clark’s hold so he could pet and hug Ace, Clark turned his attention to Jason and Tim. 

“You boys okay?”

Jason let out a breath, finally allowing some of his tension to release. “I could hug you,” he said, laughing at how much lighter he felt already. 

Fuck that was terrifying. 

When Clark held out an arm, as if offering Jason a hug, he scowled and said, “No, don’t touch me.” 

Clark laughed, his easy smile helping Jason relax further. Turning his attention to Tim, Clark asked, “What about you, Tim? You okay?”

Tim didn’t answer immediately, so Jason turned to look at him and was slightly amused at what he saw. 

Because Tim was clearly short circuiting over Superman addressing him by name. 

If he didn’t know better, he’d say Tim was absolutely starstruck.

Well, of course Tim was starstruck. Superman showed up at their house in the middle of the night and totally saved their asses from _ninjas._ On top of being shaken up, he was _absolutely_ starstruck.

It was just funny how his starstruck face was the same as his ‘adults make me nervous’ face. 

Although, what _was_ being starstruck? It was probably a type of anxiety. Jason didn’t really know, he’d never felt it. 

Tim finally nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” 

“Great,” Clark said, floating upward so he was in a ’standing’ position. Even though he was floating in the air. What a weirdo. “How about you boys go put on shoes. We need to move you to safety.” 

Jason turned to do just that, but paused when he could hear someone running up the stairs. He and Tim both froze, still in the doorway. Clark didn’t react, as far as Jason could tell with his back turned to him, so he tried to tell himself to keep calm. If Superman was calm, there was no reason to panic.

His heart raced, anyway.

Then whoever it was turned into the hall, and Jason could see it was just Alfred. 

“Oh thank heavens,” Alfred said, once he reached Damian’s room and stopped right between Tim and Jason, pulling both of them to his side in a hug, “I was downstairs tidying when the alarms went off for Superman’s arrival.” 

Jason wrapped an arm behind Alfred and squeezed, then let go when Alfred did. “Did they go off before that, when the ninjas invaded?” he asked, watching as Alfred made his way across the room and enveloped Damian into a hug. 

“I’m afraid not,” Alfred said, patting Damian’s back, because Damian had buried his face into Alfred’s stomach and wasn’t letting go, “Master Bruce will need to look at that tomorrow.” 

“Alfred, do you want these boys sent to the safe location?” Clark asked, “The final part of Bruce’s plan is to move them to safety via the zeta.” 

“Yes, yes,” Alfred said, gently pushing Damian back. When Damian reluctantly let go, Alfred knelt down and brushed a hand against Damian’s face, “It is all right, lad. I will go call your father right now, and he will come up to see you very soon. You will be safe with Superman.” 

“Shoes,” Clark reminded, and Jason jumped a little, before turning back around and racing toward his room where he grabbed the first pair of shoes he saw and shoved his feet inside. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed one of his batman hoodies from the back of his closet and quickly put it on, then took an extra to make Tim wear. 

Whenever they went somewhere with ‘Batman,’ rather than Bruce, Bruce _always_ made them wear his symbol. It was why they weren’t allowed to wear it in their civilian lives. Jason always thought it would be funny to see Bruce wearing a batman shirt, but whatever. He’d follow the stupid rules. 

“Here,” he said, once he saw Tim again, back in Damian’s room, “Wear that. It’s cold outside.” 

Tim looked down at the hoody and his eyes went comically wide, before he quickly slipped it on over his head. 

Damian saw what they were wearing and said, “Oh,” going back to his closet and getting his own hoody. 

“Okay,” Clark said, picking Damian up a second later, “Hold tight.” 

“So cool,” Tim whispered, when a rush of air hit them and Clark disappeared. 

Alfred knelt down next to Ace and gathered the dog up in his arms, then _fucking picked Ace up._

Jason tried to object with an, “Alfred—“ but was promptly cut off. 

“Hush, lad,” Alfred said, as he moved Ace to the bed and gently laid him down, tucking Damian’s blanket over him, “I may be old, but I am not frail.” 

Clark returned, then, and turned toward Tim, asking, “Do you get motion sick?”

Tim shook his head vigorously, clearly _trying_ but absolutely failing at masking his grin as Clark then picked him up. 

“Okay. Hold tight.” 

Jason looked back down at the unconscious ninjas and wondered why the _fuck_ they were there. 

He knew Damian’s mom was part of the League of Assassins, but she hadn’t tried to kidnap him before, so why would she try now? When Damian was eight? 

And how did Bruce know it was going to happen? Or… did he? Because they’d practiced for this exact scenario on multiple occasions. Either Bruce _knew_ it would eventually happen, or he was just so damned paranoid he’d thought up every single thing that could possibly go wrong and planned for them all.

Honestly, with Bruce, it could go either way. 

If he’d been expecting this, why hadn’t he trained them better, then? 

“Are you all right, Master Jason,” Alfred asked, eliciting a jump from Jason.

“Yeah,” he said. He must not have sounded at all convincing, because Alfred walked over to him and opened his arms, inviting Jason in for a hug. 

Alfred _never_ offered hugs. He was like Jason in that. 

So, of course, Jason accepted and tried very very very hard not to start crying for no reason. 

For. One reason.

“I couldn’t protect him,” Jason whispered, swallowing hard to keep himself level, “I’ve been training for a year and I couldn’t protect him.” 

“It is not your job to protect him,” Alfred said.

But that was wrong. Because Jason was older. He was older and tougher and supposed to be more experienced at all this. It _was_ the jobof the older brother to protect the younger one. 

“Yes it is,” he said a little petulantly, “he’s my little brother.” 

Alfred let go and knelt down in front of Jason, much like he had for Damian a few minutes before. “You listen here, Jason Peter. Just because you did not _physically_ protect Damian, does not mean you failed him. Did you call for Superman?” 

Jason nodded, taking a deep breath. He’d still not started crying, so he didn’t want to start now. In a second Clark would show back up and then he’d have to go up to the watchtower, probably. Or maybe Titans Tower. He had no idea where Clark wanted them to go. 

“Then you protected him. He’s still with us because of that. Do not beat yourself up. You are just a child, yourself.” 

“But—“ Jason started, but was interrupted by Clark appearing again. 

“Okay,” he said, then paused and looked between Alfred and Jason, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“It is no trouble,” Alfred said, patting Jason on the shoulder as he stood, “We can finish this conversation later. Perhaps over tea?”

Jason nodded, and stepped over toward Clark. 

“Excellent. I will go contact Master Bruce and assure him the children are safe. Thank you, Master Kent for your assistance tonight.” 

“Aw, you know I’d do anything for these kids,” Clark said, before he turned to Jason, “Ready kiddo?” 

“Yeah.” 

The flight went by in a woosh, the colors of the world blurring as Jason’s hair was absolutely _wrecked_ by the wind. Not that it hadn’t been wrecked, already, from sleeping and everything. But now his curls were all poofed out, he could just tell. 

Clark put him down right next to Tim and Damian, near the zeta Bruce had hidden deep in the woods on Wayne Estate. To reveal it, one of them had to look into the eye scanner, and considering Jason could _see_ the zeta, Damian must have already done that. 

Motioning for them to step onto the zeta’s plate, Clark stepped up to the control panel and started typing in the coordinates Jason recognized as the watchtower. 

Good. That was probably the safest place in the whole universe for them. 

“I’m sure B will be up as soon as he possibly can,” Clark said, just before he hit the command to execute the teleport, “Flash and Martian Manhunter are up there right now, the zeta will alert them to your presence. Be careful.” 

Tim nodded eagerly, and Damian and Jason simply said, “Okay.” 

When the familiar yellow light enveloped them, blinding them all for a brief second before fading out, Jason could finally feel himself fully relax. 

In fact, he was starting to feel a little excited. He’d never been to the Watchtower. 

Now they just had to figure out a way to explain all this to Tim… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you MEAN it's Wednesday?? I'm pretty sure today is just Sunday take 3. So yeah, totally not late. It's still Sunday. 
> 
> OH YEAH I FORGOT TO TELL Y'ALL about the alternate-shot I wrote that explores 'what if Talia was successful and kidnapped Damian away as a baby and Damian grew up in the League anyway. :) :) :) It's just as angsty as you'd imagine.) [Thats here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285486)
> 
> Anyway, I'm late cause it still feels like weekend cause I'm stuck at home until my covid test comes back. =\ Which takes up to 2 weeks to get results for. Wheeeee. My vacay might get cancelled over this I'm so HAPPY. >:[ (I'm 97% sure it's negative) I didn't proof this yet, since it's so late. I'll read it over tomorrow. :D Thanks for reading/commenting/kudos/etc etc. I do read all the comments. I love all of you! <3


	19. Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finds out the Manor has been invaded, and Dick has to deal with Cassandra.

_“Please, I am here to distract you while my men take Damian.”_

Dick froze. 

She couldn’t be serious. _Why_ would she try to take Damian, after all these years? Hadn’t Bruce _said_ Talia _gave_ Damian to them?? Why would she go back on that now?

They hadn’t even told Damian about the time he was kidnapped. As far as they could tell, he had no memories of the event, and Bruce decided to keep it that way. 

Talia gave Damian to them. There was no need to explain to him how crazy his mother was. No reason to warn him about any of it. 

Sure, they still had all the crazy ridiculous security protocols, but Bruce was just paranoid like that. None of them expected to have to _use_ them. 

Dick tore his attention away from Talia, who still had not done anything more than mess with her fingernails, to see how Bruce was taking the threat. 

Apparently. Bruce was wholly unconcerned. “You underestimate me, I’m sure,” Bruce scoffed, and Dick could just _hear_ the eyeroll. 

“If you’re referring to your security system,” Talia drawled, “My men disabled that a week ago.” 

Dick felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Could Talia be telling the truth?

Assassins breaking into the Manor could be an absolute _disaster._

Not only could they kidnap Damian, but Tim and Jason were both there. 

_Tim._

If they got _Tim_ killed over a _custody_ dispute, they all deserved to go to jail. Deserved the _death_ sentence. Tim was just an innocent little kid. 

He really, really, _really_ hoped Talia was just blowing smoke up their asses. Because if Talia touched _any_ of those kids…. 

Dick wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do. 

Cassandra shifted, catching Nightwing's attention as she looked between all of them frantically. They must all have been displaying their unease pretty loudly, for her to be picking up it and turning to panic. 

Taking a few sidesteps, Dick tried to help her feel a little better, with more of them around her. She had seemed to relax, a little, when Batman pushed her behind him and showed her he’d protect her, but it couldn’t hurt to have _more_ of them there to protect her. 

Clearly she was terrified of Talia. And Dick was a little afraid to find out why. 

“Considering I activated the system myself before I went out tonight, I doubt that,” Batman finally said, after he’d checked something on his wrist computer. Hopefully it had been the status of the Manor’s security system…

“Yes, incredible how we were able to make it _look_ functioning, isn’t it?” Talia said, a sly grin on her face Dick wanted to punch off. 

_Seriously._ What had Bruce ever _seen_ in this woman. 

Selina was _way_ better. Dick was glad Selina was the woman Bruce hit it off with so well. Talia was downright _crazy._ Selina was definitely a much better mom to Damian. Pseudo-step-mom. Whatever.

Batman started typing furiously at his computer, completely ignoring all of them 

Which was… great. Just great. Standing around in a glaring match with Talia al Ghul was likely not the best course of action for preventing another kidnapping. 

Dick wasn’t a helpless little kid anymore. Not that Robin had ever been helpless, he just hadn’t been capable of helping against the League of Assassins. The thought had made him mad at the time, but adult-him understood Bruce’s decision. And mostly agreed with him. 

But he was 18, this time. He could actually _help._

_And like hell was he letting the League of Assassins take his baby brother._

“Why are you going after him now, after all these years?” Dick asked, shifting from foot to foot. He wanted to go to the Manor. Check on Damian. Maybe if he got Talia ranting, it would make Bruce stop whatever he was doing and _actually do something._

“Yeah,” Selina agreed, still standing with her body slightly in front of Bruce’s standing between him and Talia. Dick was a little surprised Bruce was allowing that. He _never_ let others stand in front of him to protect him. Not unless he was literally lying on the ground, half dead, that was…

“If he was unsalvageable to you when he was _two,”_ Selina continued, “what makes no any different?” 

Talia scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “My beloved cannot seem to help himself and continues to bring _trash_ into my son’s life.” 

“Fuck you, lady,” Dick snapped back. It was so good Jason wasn’t listening in on this. 

Because it had taken _months_ to get him to stop referring to himself as ‘trash.’ And even now, Dick sometimes wondered if Jason still thought that about himself. Because he got so self-conscious sometimes, wondering whether he _deserved_ something. Sure, those days were few and far between, anymore, but they _happened._

The very last thing he needed was to hear _someone else_ call him ‘trash.’ 

Dick was a little shocked Bruce didn’t deck her over that. Had she been standing right there within _Dick’s_ reach, he might have done so. 

Then again, Selina was still standing in front of him. 

“I have no doubts he plans on bringing _this_ home with him, as well,” Talia said, pointing over at Cassandra, who was still standing right next to Nightwing, mostly behind Batman, but poking her head around so she could see Talia. 

“Are you suggesting you won’t stop me, if I do?” Bruce asked, looking up at Talia, just briefly, before he turned his attention back to his computer. 

“I don’t care what you do with her,” Talia said, rolling her eyes again, “She is clearly corruptible, which makes her useless. I told Cain his little project was pointless, his training methods barbaric.”

“Just a minute ago you called her an animal,” Batgirl said, clearly not buying a word Talia was saying. 

Dick certainly wasn’t buying a single word.

“Yes,” Talia said, nearly humming as she looked back at Cassandra, “Cain has raised her to be one. I have no doubt she is capable of more.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dick turned to Bruce and asked, “Batman, shouldn’t we be headed back to—“

Bruce held up a finger to silence him, then finished whatever he was doing on his computer. “There. Reset and flushed the system remotely. It’s showing no—“

He didn’t even finish the sentence before _all_ of their alarms were going off, alerting them to a breach of security, back at the Manor. 

“Shit,” Dick said, under his breath, keeping his eye on Talia while Bruce looked back at his wrist. They should have knocked Talia out and went toward the Manor the _second_ she said she was distracting them.

Sure, it would have only gained them two or three minutes, but _still._

And now Bruce was _still_ messing with his computer, instead of _doing something._

Dick was about to throw his escrima stick at Talia, himself, and get going whatever fight they were going to have when Batman’s tense shoulders relaxed, and he smirked at his screen. 

“And there’s the all clear,” Batman said, as everyone’s alarms silenced just as quickly as they’d started. 

Talia narrowed her eyes and pulled a communicator from her pocket to hold to her ear. Whatever she was hearing made her scowl deepen, until Dick was almost positive he could _see_ her blood pressure rise. 

“You called in Superman,” she shouted, before she started barking orders into her communicator. Dick didn’t speak whatever language she was speaking, so he had _no idea_ what her orders were. 

Bruce seemed to know, because pressed a finger to his ear and demanded, “Superman, can you hear me? Channel four.” 

“I will _have him,”_ Talia growled, before she turned sharply and stormed out. Bruce didn’t even try to stop her, so Dick let her go, as well. 

In fact, Bruce turned his back and started toward the ‘entrance’ they’d all used. The broken window on the east side of the warehouse. “Superman,” Batman demanded again, “I need an update on the situation.” 

Channel four crackled to life in their earpieces, and a second later Clark’s voice could be heard saying, “ _I’m moving the boys to the safe location.”_

“All of them?” Batman asked, and if Dick didn’t know his dad, he’d think Batman was simply inquiring out of curiosity. Polite interest.

But Dick _did_ know his dad, and he knew Bruce was internally _panicking_ over whether the kids were okay. 

It actually made Dick feel a little better, because there for a minute Bruce had been acting wholly unconcerned about it all. 

They literally had a _civilian child_ at home, completely unaware about _everything._ Having the house invaded by assassins had to be fucking _terrifying_ for Tim. Not that it wasn’t scary for the other kids, too… 

Especially with neither of them knowing about Bruce and Talia’s previous ‘custody disputes.’ 

_“Yes,”_ Clark said, and everyone visibly relaxed, pausing in their retreat of the warehouse, _“All are safe and accounted for.”_

Good. Good. Dick let out a breath, nodding, even though no one was actually talking to him. If Clark had the kids up on the Watchtower, then there was nothing Talia could do. No way she could get up there. All they had left to do was deal with whatever assassins Talia had sent.

As if reading his thoughts, Bruce said into the comm, “Okay. Once you finish, meet at the rendezvous point in Gotham. We need to expunge the League from Gotham.”

Or, if Bruce was the one who trained Dick in all this, did that mean Dick was reading _Bruce’s_ thought? 

Hm. 

_“Roger,”_ Superman said, _“Two out of three relocated now. See you soon.”_

Talia left the building as quickly as she’d arrived, and Dick spun toward the team. Cassandra was still standing there, right in the middle of all of them, looking completely thrown by the entire situation. She still had her mask pulled up, but her eyes were opened wide, and she was staring straight ahead, completely still. 

Batman spun around, then, and Cassandra jumped at his sudden movement. Bruce looked down at her, then around the room at the rest of them, all now standing in a circle around Cassandra. 

“Okay,” he repeated, with one last glance around, “We need to find where the League is stationed, and _encourage_ them to leave. Superman will bring the assassins who attacked the Manor with him to the rendezvous point. We’ll decide what to do with them there.”

Nodding, Dick opened his mouth to ask where the rendezvous point was, when Bruce cut him off. 

“Nightwing, I need you to bring Cassandra to the cave.” 

And Dick blanked for a moment. 

Because _what?_

 _“_ Are you sure _I’m_ the best option?” he asked. 

Cassandra didn’t even _like_ him. 

Well. Probably. She wasn’t at all interested in learning his name. She fled, half the time, when he appeared. Sure, she kind of reacted to him stepping closer to protect her just a minute ago, but a choice between him, a dude who had never hurt her, and Talia wasn’t that huge of a leap. 

A lot of people would choose complete strangers when given the choice between someone who had harmed them in the past and the possibility of protection. Especially since it seemed Talia wasn’t _super_ involved in Cassandra’s raising.

He had a nasty feeling Cassandra would choose her father over all of them, just out of some sick sense of loyalty. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, and all that. 

“I trust you, Nightwing,” Bruce said, as he knelt down in front of Cassandra. 

Dick tried not to get caught up in the unspoken _I trust you with my life._

Or. More than his life. Bruce was trusting him with something he saw more precious than his own life. Because Bruce had absolutely adopted Cassandra in his heart already, which was both exasperating and endearing at the same time.

Shit. He wasn’t sure how he was going to convince a non-verbal child to come home with him.

“Cassandra,” Bruce said, softly, as he set his hands on her shoulders, “I need you to go with Nightwing.”

Why did Bruce think that would work? _Why_ would he think Cassandra would understand him?

But Cassandra cocked her head, and relaxed her shoulders, even if just a centimeter, as she stared at Bruce.

“Nightwing,” Bruce said, pointing at Dick. It looked like he pushed her, gently, toward Dick, and said, “Cassandra, follow Nightwing.” 

She scrunched her eyebrow at him, but took a step toward Nightwing, anyway, looking between the two of them skeptically. 

Bruce nodded enthusiastically, motioning for Cassandra to take the last two steps over toward Dick, then stood. “Bring her blanket,” he said, nodding his head once at the others before he spun around, “Batmobile will be here in two minutes.”

Right. 

Cassandra straightened when Batman started to retreat, and took half a step toward him, as if she was going to follow, but Nightwing reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

She tensed drastically, and looked at him with what appeared to be a mix of confusion and fear.

Shit. 

When she was scared she tended to get stabby.

“Hey,” he said, squatting down next to her. The others continued their exit of the building, but he noticed Bruce hesitate, when he looked back at them. But then he continued on, all three of them leaving the warehouse completely, Cassandra still standing next to Nightwing. 

“Hi, Cassandra,” Dick said, smiling at her while she stared, “I’m Nightwing.” 

“Wa-we,” Cassandra mumbled, after pulling her mask back down, and it took Dick half a second to realize that’s the sound he’d make if he said “Nightwing” without moving his tongue. 

Huh. He never thought about how much work his tongue did when forming sounds. That was going to be an interesting thing to try and teach a kid. 

“Yes,” he said, smiling brighter and nodded, “Nightwing. I’m going to protect you, okay? And bring you someplace safe.” 

Cassandra merely scrunched her eyebrows again, staring at Dick intently. After a second, she took a step backward, and it took all of Dick’s strength not to reach out and grab her hand, if only to keep her from bolting.

Of course she didn’t understand. 

Fuck. 

If he wasn’t able to convince Cassandra to come with him, and they lost her, Bruce would _never_ forgive him. 

Hell. Dick would never forgive himself. This kid was, like, eleven tops. 

At least she hadn’t run _yet._

Dick ran a hand down his face as he tried to think. He looked around the warehouse, and saw her blanket abandoned on the floor, right where she’d left it when Talia so rudely interrupted them. 

She really liked that blanket. Enough that she’d insisted Batman follow her back to her base. Enough to _bring_ Batman and his entire _team_ back to her base, just so she could learn the name of it. 

Maybe… maybe she trusted Nightwing more than he thought. It took a hell of a lot for _Nightwing_ to come to trust someone enough to bring them back to even a safe house of his. Perhaps Cassandra knew she could just pack up and move at a moment’s notice, but Dick assumed it was something a little deeper than that. 

Because she’d shown them her blanket. Something she clearly loved. And likely felt safe with.

Slowly, Dick stood to his feet and walked over to the blanket, careful to keep his eye on Cassandra while trying not to look like he was making sure she didn’t run. 

Even though that was exactly what he was doing.

Her eyes went wide when Nightwing approached the blanket, then her whole body stiffened when Dick picked it up. Like she were afraid he was about to do something bad with it. 

Fuck. 

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly, as he made his way back to her, trying his best to keep his gait slow and gentle. The way he’d approach a victim on the street, terrified he was about to attack them too. Or Jason, when he was having one of his, thankfully, now rare panic attacks. 

He knelt back down in front of Cassandra and gently wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, letting the massive size of it completely engulf her. She reached up and grabbed onto the edges, just as he got it completely wrapped around, and held it in place. 

“Safe,” Dick said, as he pulled part of it over her head like a hood, letting it completely encase her like Dick always liked doing with his blanket, when he was little and just wanted to be safe and warm. 

Cassandra just stared at him, but did grasp the blanket a little more, pulling it tightly around herself. 

“Nightwing,” he said, pointing at himself, “Safe,” he said, gently brushing his hands on the blanket around her shoulders, then pointed at her, saying “Cassandra.” 

He had _no idea_ if the concept was getting across, but Dick honestly couldn’t think of another way to do it. 

Still keeping his movements slow and soft, he rose to his feet and took a step toward the backdoor, where his watch was telling him the Batmobile had just parked. He reached out, motioning for Cassandra to follow, as he took another step, then another. 

Cassandra looked down at the blanket around her, then back up at Nightwing, her eyes wide, but sharp. 

She thought hard about it. At least, that’s what it looked like to Dick, because he could see her thoughts running a mile a minute as she kept eye contact and stared deeply at him. After a full five seconds, she shook the blanket off her head and looked around the warehouse. 

Then took half a step toward Nightwing. 

“Let’s go,” Nightwing said, as he turned and started walking toward the backdoor. He glanced back, after a few steps, and watched as Cassandra took another step. Then another. Until she started actually walking, the blanket still around her shoulders, dragging behind her. 

This was it. Either he’d convince her to get into the car, or she’d bolt. 

He didn’t relax until he was at the Batmobile, a tiny little girl wrapped up in a giant blanket standing next to him. He opened the passenger door, and motioned for her to get inside. 

She looked at him appraisingly, her eyes boring into his soul like she could see everything he was thinking. 

Maybe she could. He didn’t know. 

So all he did was smile and nod. “Safe,” he promised, motioning for the passenger seat again. He would do everything to keep her safe, he wanted her to know. If Bruce was adopting her, which he knew he _was,_ it meant this little girl was about to be his sister. 

He’d die protecting any of his siblings. 

Or, well, he’d die protecting innocent civilians, regardless of relation, but he’d _extra_ die for his family. 

Cassandra blinked and nodded once. She pulled the blanket away from herself and took a step into the car, gracefully collapsing into the seat and pulling the blanket in behind her, so it was bunched up in her lap. 

Dick smiled, as he reached in and helped buckle her seatbelt. When she tensed at the strap being clicked into place, Dick sighed. 

Somehow, he wasn’t at all surprised a ninja death cult hadn’t ever used a seatbelt with her.

He gently took her hand and helped her press the button that unfastened the belt, just so she’d know it wasn’t something to trap her. He really didn’t care if she didn’t wear it, but Bruce would probably kill him if he found out he hadn’t even _tried_ to make her wear it. 

But Cassandra looked down at the buckle curiously, then fastened it back herself, making it click in and then unfasten herself a few times. 

Content she was fine, he pulled the tail of her blanket in and shut the door, then rounded the car and slipped into the driver seat. When he clicked his own seatbelt into place, she fastened hers back and looked at him, and Dick got the weird sense she was waiting for orders.

Because. Right. Ninja. Talia _had_ just clearly transferred her to them. Maybe it didn’t matter if she felt safe with them, she was just following orders…

That… was not something he was thinking about at that moment. That could be something _Bruce_ dealt with. Later. 

Right now, Dick was focusing on bringing her back to the cave. 

So he just smiled at her and started the car. 

“Hi, Cassandra,” he said again, as the Batmobile came to life at the press of a button, “Are you ready to go home?” 

Of course, Cassandra didn’t answer, but she did return Dick’s smile. Even if shyly. 

So maybe she didn’t hate him. 

And now they were going home. 

The kids were _all_ safe. All _four_ of them.

Good. Dick couldn’t help but smile wider. This was all very good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been a month? Oops. But I'm back now! At least for a month or so until I'm MAYBE finally going on that vacation that's been postponed twice now. We'll see. 
> 
> In case you missed it, I accidentally wrote an entire longfic since the last update. It's like two weeks old now, but I'm blaming that for the reason I haven't written for this project in a month. (And am pointedly ignoring how I kept procrastinating because writing Dick is Hard and I wasn't entirely sure how he was gonna convince her to come with him. hahahahahaha but it's done now)
> 
> Anyway, _[Not All Kidnappings Are Bad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723171)_ is another Jason-joins-the-family fic, so if you enjoy those kind of stories check it out. But please read the author's note at the start of the first chapter. It covers the potentially triggering themes of the story so no one is caught off guard by it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and being patient about updates! Y'all are the best. ❤️ See you next week!


	20. Jason

Jason hated traveling by zeta.

Which… that wasn’t entirely true. It was _so cool,_ traveling by zeta. But the way his vision whited out for a few seconds afterward always threw him off. And the weird fuzziness of the light around him. The static that took over his body.

It was just… weird. 

But it only lasted a few seconds, and then he was standing on Watchtower. 

_Watchtower._

And Tim and Damian were waiting for him, both standing about five feet inside the zeta room, both looking around. Tim much more excitedly than Damian.

Since Damian still looked pretty upset. 

Damn.

Jason tried not to jump when Flash said, “Hey,” as he appeared in the door of the zeta room, his eyes wide as he took in the three of them, “Why are you up here? What’s going on?”

“Some bad guys attacked the manor,” Damian exclaimed, “And they shot Ace and were trying to kidnap me.”

“What,” Flash said, startled, as he appeared at Damian’s side, looking him up and down, “Are you okay? Did they get you far? Is Ace okay?”

“Superman saved us,” Damian said, nodding, completely unfazed by how Flash was checking him for injuries, “Ace was just tranqued.”

“Good,” Flash said, turning toward Jason, “Do you know who did it? Does Batman know? Shit. Does Batman know you’re up here?” 

“Yes,” Jason said, _fairly_ confident that Bruce had been informed by then. If he hadn’t known the instant the manor’s alarms went off. And while he wasn’t completely sure, he was positive enough to say, “I think League of Assassins.”

“Again?” Flash asked, jumping up from where he’d still been kneeling down in front of Damian, one hand on Damian’s shoulder. He spun toward Tim, pointing at him, and asked, “And who are you?”

It was kind of hilarious how Tim shrank back at the attention.

Also sad. 

“I-I’m Tim,” he said, from where he’d backed himself up against the wall of the small room they were in. As if doing so would make them all forget he was there.

Shit. 

Jason kind of _did_ forget.

And fuck. They just… dragged Tim into space. That was probably super illegal. And they’d done it without any explanation. The fuck was he supposed to stay? Was he allowed to say ‘yeah Dad’s Batman’ now? Would Bruce get mad at him for spilling the beans?

He wasn’t sure it was possible to drag Tim around on Watchtower _without_ telling him. How _else_ did they have such access to Superman? And even though Barry hadn’t used their names or anything, it was obvious he _knew_ them. 

How were they going to explain any of this? 

“He’s our neighbor,” Damian explained, “He’s staying with us while his parents are out of town.” 

Fuck. They needed to get Tim a codename. 

Although Jason knew both Flash and Martian Manhunter knew who Batman was, Bruce would kill them if he found out they haphazardly shared their own identities. 

And crap. 

They weren’t supposed to be up there without masks on. Jason had remembered the Batman hoodies, but completely forgotten the masks. Shit. Bruce _was_ going to kill him. 

“Flash,” Jason said, ignoring how Flash looked even more confused by Tim’s presence, “We forgot masks.” 

“Oh, right. I know where Batman keeps spares, B. R. B.” 

As soon as Flash vanished, Jason spun toward Tim and said, “We need to get you a codename. I’m Jaybird and he’s Little D.” Jason pointed at Damain as he said it, and tried not to grumble at the stupid names Dick and Bruce made them go by. Maybe if Tim picked something _now_ he wouldn’t be saddled with a dumb name, too. “Pick something.” 

“I-“ Tim said, dumbstruck as a stupid little grin took over his face. 

Jeez this kid.

Before Tim unfroze, Flash reappeared in the room, holding a handful of domino masks. “These are the smallest ones I could find. Hopefully they work. Batman might have some in his quarters, if they don’t. I just can’t get into Batman’s quarters…” 

“That’s okay,” Jason said, reaching out and taking the stack of masks from him, “We can. Thanks.” 

“Cool. I have to get back to the monitor room, do you know your way around?” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, sorting through the masks, finding the smallest one to give Tim. 

“Batman made us memorize maps,” Damian said, nodding seriously.

Which was true. And it _sucked,_ but Jason was kind of thankful Bruce had been such a hardass about the training.

There was no way he was going to admit that to Bruce, though. 

“Okay. Don’t get into any trouble. There aren’t cameras up here, because Batman is paranoid, but Martian Manhunter can tell if you’re misbehaving.” 

“No he can’t,” Damian shot back, but it didn’t particularly matter, because Flash had already zipped off. Damian turned to face Jason and Tim and added, “He really can’t. He’s a mindreader, but he can’t read our minds without us knowing.” 

Jason just shrugged, and said, “Okay,” as he handed Damian the second smallest mask.

He didn’t know anything about J’onn’s mind-reading abilities. He’d never even _met_ J’onn. Just heard _of_ him, from Dick and Bruce. Out of all the superheroes, really only Clark, Wally, and Roy came around the manor much. Sometimes Barry or Oliver accompanied them, but not very often. 

But he _did_ know Bruce trusted J’onn. He’d been one of the first in the League to learn Bruce’s identity. Although Jason figured that was because of his mind-reading abilities. He didn’t know. 

And if so, then Damian was just full of shit. 

Jason handed Damian the second smallest mask and took the third smallest mask for himself, since he _was_ bigger than both Tim and Damian, thank you very much. That didn’t matter, though, because the mask was definitely too big on him. 

Too big on all of them. They were adult masks. Bruce should rectify that, and stock the Watchtower with masks of _all_ sizes. 

They was self-adhesive, though, which was helpful. Single use only, and not good for actual combat. It’d probably come right off if they started sweating too much, Jason was sure. But it didn’t particularly matter, because it was just to protect their identities as they walked around the Watchtower. And since these masks had lenses in them, and not open eye-holes, they’d do their jobs just fine, even if they were too large. 

Tim looked down at the mask in his hand, then back up at Jason, a little helplessly, and Jason could facepalm.

Duh. Why would the neighbor kid know how to put a mask on?

“Look, okay,” he said, taking the mask from Tim’s hands and removing the paper layer protecting the adhesive, “It helps line it up properly if you start at the center on your nose.” 

He gently stuck the mask right onto Tim’s face, careful to make sure he was keeping it lined up with the bridge of Tim’s nose. 

“Then just press it into your skin starting from the middle out,” he continued, as he did so to Tim’s mask, careful to make sure he was keeping it lined up. He’d never put a mask on someone else before, so he wasn’t entirely sure he was putting it on right without the benefit of feeling how it was sticking, but it didn’t _look_ crooked, so at least there was that.

While Jason finished apply the mask, Tim grinned his little grin he did when he was trying _really hard_ not to, but couldn’t help it, anyway. It was amusing. Tim was such a superhero fanboy. 

“There,” he said, once he was satisfied the mask was on well, “Is that comfortable? Blink a few times, make sure your eyelashes aren’t brushing the lens.”

“It’s perfect.” 

“Cool,” Jason said, as he looked around. They probably shouldn’t hang out in the zeta room. If anyone managed to get into Watchtower, the zeta room would be where they’d appear first. 

If someone _could_ get onto Watchtower, there probably wasn’t anywhere on the Watchtower safe, but maybe Batman’s quarter’s would be at least a little harder to break into. Jason knew Bruce had the security on it beefed up, from everything else in the Watchtower. 

Which really said a lot about Bruce and his paranoia. 

“Come on,” he said, grabbing Tim’s sleeve and dragging him toward the room’s exit. Damian bounced to his side, before Jason even passed him, and followed eagerly out the room. “Think of a codename yet, greenbean?” 

“Greenbean?” Tim echoed, as he pulled his arm away and started following alongside Jason and Damian.

“Yeah,” Jason said, then thought for a moment. Maybe that wasn’t a real nickname. “It’s from a book. Means newbie, I guess.”

“ _Why?_ ” Damian asked, and Jason rolled his eyes as they reached the end of the hall. He knew Batman’s room was down the hall main hall, up the stairs, then to the left, on the outer ring. The entire watchtower was like a giant top, spinning in space, so it didn’t _particularly_ matter if they went right or left, they’d end up at his quarters. 

Plus. If they went _right,_ Jason was fairly certain they’d pass a bunch of windows and get to _see outside._

Jason kind of really wanted to see outside. 

“This way,” he said, at the top of the stairs, “And I don’t know. I think green meant new because newbies got sick. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Batman’s quarters are _this way,”_ Damian complained, from where he’d stopped following Jason at the top of the stairs, “That’s where we’re supposed to wait for him.” 

Oh. Good. Jason maybe hadn’t been paying attention when Bruce said where they were _supposed_ to wait. At least he’d guessed right.

“ _Yeah,_ but the giant bay of windows is _this way._ I’ve never been up here, I wanna see. _”_

“There are windows?” Tim asked, his eagerness clear in his voice, “I vote for windows, too.”

“Ha, see. Two against one.” Jason spun back around and kept going. After a moment, Damian let out a huff of annoyance and ran after them, catching up after only a few more steps. 

Did Tim even know what they were about to see out the windows? Heh. He was in for a _huge_ shock once they got there, and could hopefully see Earth. Or the moon. The moon would be cool. He hoped it wasn’t just the black of space, even if _that_ would be cool, too. How fast did the Watchtower spin? Would they get to see it all?

“Fine, but when Dad gets mad I’m making sure he knows it’s _your_ fault.” 

“Dad’s not gonna get mad,” Jason said, waving a hand. 

At least. Not at them going to look out windows. _Probably._

He might be mad about the whole, telling-Tim-Drake-thing. Because. Unless Tim was stupid, there was no way he hadn’t made the connection yet. Damian had _just_ called Batman ‘Dad.’ 

But Jason didn’t care if Bruce got mad. What was he gonna do? Glare at him? Whatever. None of this would’ve happened had he not got involved with the League of Assassins in the first place. All he had to do was leave the assassin girl alone, but no.

Finally, the large windows came into view, and none of it _mattered._

Because _holy shit._

“Wow,” Tim whispered, echoing Jason’s thoughts exactly. 

Because down below them was the fucking _Earth._

How many kids could say they’d been to space and seen _Earth._ From _above?_

Jason… Jason was probably among the first ten. All of them were. Because Jason wasn’t even sure if all of the Teen Titans had been up there. 

They stood there for several minutes, just staring down at the Earth they were orbiting. They were currently above the western hemisphere, and it was cool to look down and see what it looked like at night. With all the lights on in the major cities.

“So,” Jason finally said, after the silence had stretched for a while. Tim wasn’t a super nosy kid, so Jason understood why he hadn’t been questioning _everything_ they were doing _,_ but there was no way he didn’t want to know, either. 

And Jason felt bad keeping him in the dark. Because, again, there was also no way Tim hadn’t at least figured out Bruce was Batman. Or at least heavily connected with the superhero community. 

“You’re probably wondering what’s going on, where we are and stuff.” 

Tim turned his head slightly toward Jason, then looked back down at Earth from where he was standing between Jason and Damian. “Are we not on the Watchtower?” he asked, and Jason could see how he scrunched his eyebrows in thought, in his reflection in the glass. 

“Uh,” Jason stammered, trying to remember if he’d _said_ Watchtower yet. He was pretty sure he _hadn’t._ “Yeah. How did you know that?”

At that, Tim looked up at him fully, and said rather indignantly, “Jason. We’re in _space.”_

 _“_ Jaybird,” Jason corrected, “And _yeah,_ but the Watchtower is classified information. How did you _know_ that’s where we were?” 

Tim blanched, and opened his mouth, just to snap it back shut.

Had they ever talked about Watchtower around him? Jason was pretty sure they _hadn’t._ They were all very good at not talking about superhero stuff around civilians. And while Bruce seemed wholly unconcerned if they spilled the beans to Tim, none of them had even come _close._ Tim had also only been there a couple weeks. And nothing major had happened yet, like Bruce having to go on a mission, or one of the getting injured badly. 

“Oh,” Tim said, after a moment.

“Oh?” Damian asked, “What does that mean?” 

When all Tim did was let out a shaky breath, and smile in his I’m-fucking-nervous-and-don’t-know-what-to-do way, Jason narrowed his eyes. 

“Tim,” he said slowly, “What do you know?”

“I-“ Tim started, as he took a few steps back from the windows and rubbed at the side of his face, “Uh.” 

Neither Jason nor Damian said anything, so after a few more seconds, Tim squeaked out a quiet, “Everything?” and all Jason could do was blink.

Because.

_What?_

Damian exchanged a look with Jason, then asked, “What do you mean everything?” 

“I know that—“ Tim started, but Jason startled.

“Wait,” he exclaimed, jumping forward to put a hand over Tim’s mouth, “Not here.” 

There weren’t cameras on Watchtower, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people watching. Or listening.

And Bruce _would_ get pissed if they openly discussed his secret identity right in the middle of the fucking lobby. Jason grabbed Tim and Damian’s arms and started pulling them towards Batman’s quarters.

“I’m sorry,” Tim mumbled, as they walked, and Jason just wanted to facepalm. 

This kid. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he sighed, “Just. We’ll talk about it in a minute, okay? Batman’s quarters are secured.”

“I should have told you sooner,” Tim mumbled, anyway, sounding so dejected Jason wanted to facepalm harder. Or hug Tim. _Why_ did Tim always make him feel like Tim needed _hugs?_ “Or not told you? I don’t know.”

“How long have you known?” Damian asked just as they reached Batman’s door, and Jason stopped short and blinked. 

Because. 

Wait. How long _had_ Tim known?

Jason looked back at Tim, briefly, just to see Tim’s mouth working again as he turned an even paler shade of white. Which was apparently possible for a ghost-boy. 

_That’s what they should call him,_ he thought for a second. But Ghost-boy was way cooler than Jaybird and like hell was Jason giving Tim a _cooler_ nickname than he got. 

And the way Tim’s cheeks started to redden then, and he spluttered out _another_ apology, Jason could’t help but groan. 

He wasn’t going to like Tim’s answer. He already knew it. 

“How long?” Damian repeated.

As Jason was typing in his authorization code into Bruce’s stupid little computer outside his door. His _twenty digit long_ authorization code, Tim finally answered. 

“Um. Like, a year?” 

Yep. Jason didn’t like that answer _at all._

Because if _Tim Drake_ could figure it out at, what, nine? Then who-the-fuck _else_ knew?

Jason finished typing in the code, then said his codename into the microphone, and the door clicked open. 

“Inside,” Jason said, as he pushed both Tim and Damian inside before they even had a chance to walk in. 

They had _a lot_ to talk about. And Jason wasn’t sure where to begin.

Or if they even should, without Bruce there. 

Shit. _Bruce_ was going to be pissed. Because Tim had been keeping secrets, and Bruce _hated_ when other people had secrets like that. 

Although when Jason looked back at Tim, all he could do was sigh. Because there was no way Bruce could possibly stay mad at Tim.

Not with the way Tim was looking down at his hands, fidgeting and picking at his nails. The kid was normally a ball of anxiety, but now it was ten times worse. 

“I’m sorry?” Tim said again, and Jason sighed, much louder and more dramatically, as he went and collapsed onto Bruce’s bed face first. 

New plan.

Bruce could deal with it. 

Jason hadn’t even been adopted yet a year ago. He’d barely been at Gotham Academy a month, one year ago. He hadn’t had _any_ interaction with the Drakes, one year ago. So there was _no way_ Jason was the one to spill the beans. 

So, clearly this was Bruce’s mess. He could clean it up. Jason wasn’t dealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little late, but this counts as this past Sunday's update, so I'll work on getting one up this weekend again, too. I'm excited to be reaching this point. I need to figure out what happens once everyone goes home and this little event is over, though. LOL 😆
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking around, even through my poorly scheduled updates lately. lol


	21. Tim

“I’m sorry?” Tim said again, trying to keep his stomach from flipping upside down while the rest of his body turned into static. He hated that feeling, and wished it would go away. He didn’t have time to deal with it, at the moment.

“Nope,” Jason said, from where he was laying on the bed, his face buried into the blanket. 

Tim didn’t know what to do. 

He should have told them way sooner. Right? He didn’t know. 

What would they do, now that they know he knows? Kick him out? 

No. Probably not. Bruce said he couldn’t go home until Mom and Dad were back, and the only other option was foster care, and Tim doubted Batman would make Tim go into foster care knowing everything he knew… 

Even though Tim would never ever tell anyone. _Ever._

After a few seconds of silence, Jason kicked off his shoes, then flipped the blanket to be up over him as he said, “I’m going back to sleep. No calls.” 

Damian scoffed loudly, so Jason added, “If you losers leave this room I’m locking you in a closet.”

Was there even a closet in this room? Tim looked around, and only saw a lot of built in drawers and cabinets along the far wall, which had a door in the middle that appeared to lead to a bathroom. Otherwise, it was just one, moderately sized rectangular room crammed with a large bed, couch, and small table with four seats. 

What was even the point to the room? Did Batman have it just for _this_ purpose? To send all the kids to be safe? Or was it a safe house for the Batman family in general? It was a little cramped for five people to live in, if Bruce, Alfred, and all his kids came up here. 

But, then again, with the entire Watchtower out there it probably wouldn’t be too bad. 

“Yeah, right,” Damian huffed, as he jumped up on the bed next to Jason. 

When Jason opened his eyes to glare at Damian, Damian flopped backward so he was laying on top of Jason.

“Go away,” Jason screeched, pushing Damian off him as he sat up, “Go sleep on the couch, you brat.”

“I can’t sleep!” Damian shouted.

“Well I can! Not even Superman can get to us in here.” 

That was pretty impressive, if true. How did Batman make the wall strong enough that Superman couldn’t break through it? 

“But Dad is still in Gotham,” Damian said, as he settled down next to Jason, instead of on top of him, “What if the ninjas get him?” 

“Bruce deals with assassins all the time,” Jason said, “He’ll be fine.”

Batman didn’t deal with assassins _all_ the time. Tim had never seen him fight assassins, at least. Hitmen, sometimes, but assassins? 

And what was the League of Assassins? That’s what Jason said attacked them. 

“Leave that on,” Jason said, grabbing Damian’s hand as Damian started to peel off his mask, “It won’t stick right again later.”

“But it itches,” Damian whined.

Tim didn’t know what to do. 

He shifted from one foot to the other, then looked around. He should probably sit down, right? Jason said he had to stay in the room, so it was probably okay to sit on the couch, or something. 

Or would they get mad at him? Jason was already mad at him… probably. He wasn’t talking to Tim anymore. He’d just collapsed on the bed and started ignoring Tim, so that was definitely mad. He didn’t want to make Bruce mad, too. Not right off, before Bruce found out Tim _knew._

He didn’t _mean_ to know. The realization just… hit him. One day. He couldn’t help it. 

Bruce wouldn’t kick him out, he knew that. But he might still send Tim to jail. Especially if he found out about the pictures. Tim could tell them about knowing _without_ mentioning the pictures. Easy. 

But Tim wasn’t sure how Batman would get him in jail. That required, like, evidence and stuff. To get a conviction. And Tim _was_ little. Juries probably wouldn’t send him to jail for long. Especially since it really was only stalking laws that Tim could think of breaking. And really, lots of adults got away with stalking, even when they were being super creepy about it. Tim wasn’t being creepy. 

So, maybe jail wasn’t an option. And Bruce was too nice to lock Tim away on the Watchtower for the rest of his life.

There was that guy that could read minds, though, Damian said. If he could read minds, could he wipe them? Tim didn’t want his mind wiped. 

“Tim,” Jason whined, making Tim jump and look back at where Jason was now lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, “Stop worrying so loud. I’m tryin’ ta sleep.”

“What?” Tim asked, wondering what he’d been doing that was so loud. As far as he could remember, he hadn’t made a noise, “I’m—“

“How have you known a year?” Jason snapped, flipping the blanket off him as he sat up, “What even _is_ that? You’re ten.” 

“I—“ 

“Yeah,” Damian interrupted, “I didn’t even know until I was five, and I see Dad everyday.”

Jason scowled at Damian and said, “What? How did you not know until you were five?”

“Dad and Dick and Alfred kept it a secret.”

_“Why,”_ Jason demanded, now completely facing Damian, both of them still sitting on the bed. Tim wasn’t sure what to do or say, but at least they were back to ignoring him.

“Cause little kids can’t keep secrets,” Damian explained, “I had to prove I could keep secrets.”

“How did you prove that? He didn’t make _me_ prove I could keep secrets.”

Damian shrugged and said, “Dad told me what he got Dick for Christmas and I had to keep it secret for two months. Dick even interrogated me.”

“Bruce is a paranoid freak,” Jason exclaimed, throwing himself back down into a laying position, “Although, our nine-year-old neighbor figured it out, so obviously his paranoia hasn’t done him anything.”

Tim felt his shoulders reach up to his ears as both Damian and Jason looked back at him. He wanted them to go back to ignoring him. Bicker for an hour and ignore him so he could put off telling everyone for a little longer.

“Kid,” Jason sighed, “sit down, you look like you’re gonna faint.”

“I’m not,” Tim mumbled, because he _wasn’t,_ but he did walk over to the couch and sit down anyway. At least there he could lean back heavily into the plush cushions and wraps his arms around his stomach.

“So?” Jason prodded, “How did you find out?”

With a deep breath, Tim said, “Um. Well. I saw Nightwing on the news…”

No one interrupted him, to his surprise. Usually they interrupted him with a million questions, but all Jason did was grin while Damian looked at him, mildly confused.

“And, uh,” he continued, making himself stop chewing at the side of his cheek, “He did a quadruple summersault. And, I watched a documentary about the Flying Graysons…”

It’d been captivating, a true crime documentary that watched like a murder mystery. It had started with the history of the Graysons and what happened the night of their murder, and Tim had never been so absorbed by a documentary. His nanny thought he should not be watching true crime documentaries, but she’d given up months before trying to make him stop.

Maybe she should have tried harder. 

Because if he hadn’t seen that documentary, he wouldn’t be in this mess now.

Tim took another deep breath and said, “So I knew only the Graysons could do that, and Dick started living with Bruce not long before Robin showed up. So…”

Once Tim saw it, he couldn’t unsee it. 

It was too obvious, and there were too many coincidences for it not to be true.

“So you’re a fucking genius,” Jason said, the hint of awe in his voice made Tim snap his attention back up. 

“Uh, well. I wouldn’t say…”

He was just _observant._ Anyone paying attention could make the connection. He wouldn’t be surprised if other people already _had_ made the connection. 

“This is perfect,” Jason exclaimed, “It’s not my fault, it’s _Dick’s!_ I’m never letting him live this down.”

“But,” Damian said, still clearly confused, “how did you know about the Watchtower?”

“Oh.” _Right._ How _did_ he know that? 

He couldn’t tell them he heard Batman talking about it. That would make him have to explain _how_ he heard Batman talk about it. And he hadn’t heard _Bruce_ say a peep about any of that around him in the two weeks he’d been staying in Wayne Manor. They’d all been very careful. 

Jason and Damian kept staring at him, so he probably had to answer. 

Crap.

“Um,” he stammered, “I… read about it. Online. I like to read conspiracy theory websites. There’s a post about the Justice League having a secret base in space.”

Tim wasn’t sure if that was true. If it wasn’t, he’d figure out how to make it true before anyone verified his story. 

But there was probably _something_ out there about it. 

Maybe.

There were, after all, posts online about how Bruce Wayne was totally Batman. None of those posts ever gained traction, because pretty much every huge buff dude in Gotham got accused of being Batman at some point. And no one really believed clueless airhead Bruce Wayne could be Batman. He was too busy adopting kids and planning trips to Disney World, or whatever.

Bruce was right,” Jason said, “you need way more supervision.”

Tim scowled. What did reading random stuff online have to do with _that?_ He did _not_ need more supervision. He was fine. 

Before Tim could protest, beeping started up at the door, and Tim tensed. He wasn’t ready to face Batman. He _wasn’t._ And Batman was the only logical person who could be typing on the little keyboard outside. Flash and Jason both said no one else could get into the room. 

Tim kept his eyes locked on the leg of the bed, which was right across from where he was still sitting on the couch, as the door slid open. 

He wasn’t ready.

Damian leapt off the bed, making Jason shriek at him for how much it jostled him. “Dad,” Damian shouted, despite Jason’s grumbling, as he launched himself into Bruce’s arms. 

_Batman’s_ arms. 

Because Bruce was dressed up fully as Batman. 

Tim had seen Batman a hundred times before, but he’d never been within ten feet and in full view of him. 

And he’d _certainly_ never seen him open his arms up and let an eight-year-old jump into them. Not as Batman, at least.

Tim couldn’t help but gawk. Even though Damian started crying, and Bruce just held him tight, whispering something into Damian’s ear. 

“Hey kittens,” Catwoman said to Tim and Jason, because _Catwoman was there, too._

“S,” Jason said, smiling, “Did ya kick the assassins out of Gotham?”

“Yeah,” she said, as she crossed the room, patting Tim on the head as she passed, “they won’t be bothering us for a while.”

Jason nodded and said, “Good. I _told_ you guys messing with that assassin girl was a terrible idea.”

Catwoman laughed as she sat down on the bed, but didn’t say anything else. 

Tim just sank into the couch more. He had no idea what they were talking about, but that was okay. Because they weren’t talking to _him._

“What?” Jason demanded, “What’s that laugh for.”

“Jay...” Batman said, then sighed. 

Tim’s stomach twisted at his tone. He had no idea what was wrong, but _something_ was wrong. And it somehow didn’t include Tim _knowing._ Would it get way worse, once Bruce knew?

Or, well, Bruce probably already knew he knew. Since he was hugging Damian and all. And Damian _did_ just call him ‘Dad.’

Bruce set Damian down on his feet and looked over at Tim, then sighed again.

Okay. So maybe he was a little mad or annoyed with Tim, after all.

But then Batman just… pushed his cowl back. 

Like it was nothing. 

Like it wasn’t the coolest thing Tim had ever witnessed in his _entire life._

And _sure,_ he obviously knew Bruce was Batman. But it was still so so cool to have it outright proved right in front of him. 

Then, even cooler, Batman sat on the couch right next to him. Although he got distracted when Damian climbed into his lap and sniffled loudly. Tim was fairly certain Damian was just playing it up for the sympathy. 

It worked, though, because Bruce wrapped his arms around Damian and let him snuggle up against Bruce. Even though he was eight. 

But Damian did that sometimes, even when he hadn’t just been almost kidnapped. 

Bruce just didn’t know when kids were too old for stuff, Tim was absolutely convinced, at that point. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Bruce finally said, with Damian still wrapped up in his arms. Damian wasn’t crying or anything, though, so at least there was that. Tim wasn’t sure what he’d do if Damian started crying, since Damian was sitting sideways, facing Tim. It would be a little awkward, if Damian started crying right next to him.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Jason said, “Where’s Dick?”

Bruce shifted, and turned so he was facing all of them a little better and said, “He’s at home.”

Jason nodded and exclaimed, a little devious smile on his face, “Before we talk about Tim knowing, _he_ should be here, cause it’s all his fault.”

“What do you mean?”

No, Tim thought. He wasn’t _ready._

But Jason didn’t seem to care, because he proclaimed, proudly, “He did his stupid show-off bullshit and Tim figured out he was Nightwing when he was _nine.”_

Bruce snapped his attention to Tim, and Tim had never wished more in his life he could turn himself invisible. 

He was _never_ going to be ready for this conversation.

“You’ve known this whole time?” Bruce asked. His voice lacked the anger Tim had been expecting, but Bruce was _really_ good at acting. He knew that. So it could all just be an act. So not to upset Damian… or Jason. Bruce didn’t like to be mad in front of Jason, for whatever reason.

Tim nodded mutely.

“That’s why you…” Bruce started, then cut himself off with a laugh. “Who all have you figured out?”

Tim looked down as he bunched up the extra sleeve of the Batman hoody he was wearing in his fist. He used to chew on the sleeves of his hoodies, but Mrs. Mac said he was ruining them, and this hoody belonged to Jason. Jason probably would not appreciate Tim ruining it. 

It was difficult not to start, though. 

“You’re not in trouble, son,” Bruce said, gently, and Tim tried not to startle when Bruce reached out and ruffled his hair. Why did Bruce _do_ that? 

And why wasn’t he mad??

The Waynes made no sense and Tim kind of _hated_ how his eyes were getting a little blurry just thinking about _that._

“Now I see why everyone is enamored with you, kid,” Catwoman said. _Selina_ said, from where she was sitting criss cross on the bed, next to Jason. Tim blinked his eyes clear, and looked over at her. They were _enamored_ with him? What?

“Well?” Jason asked, impatiently, so Tim took a steadying breath.

“Uh. Bruce, obviously,” Tim pointed over toward Catwoman, “Uh. Selina. Dick. I think Batgirl is Barbara Gordon, but I don’t have evidence for that, it’s just a hunch.” But Bruce nodded, so Tim was taking that as confirmation. “And, uh, I have some guesses for a few other heroes?”

Bruce smiled and asked, “Like who?”

“Well,” he said slowly, because he wasn’t really _sure._ He kind of suspected Oliver Queen was Green Arrow, based on how he knew Bruce and Oliver worked together some, and Jason and Roy were friends, but he didn’t have any real _proof_ that they had superhero alter-egos. All he knew was Bruce didn’t really have friends that weren’t superheroes, otherwise. He was pretty sure. Batman had lots of friends. Bruce Wayne didn’t have any. Not really. 

“I found out earlier that Superman’s first name is Clark,” he said, because his brain _had_ been thinking about that, “and I didn’t know Superman even _had_ a secret identity, but theres a reporter in Metropolis called Clark Kent and he looks a lot like Superman just with glasses, now that I think about it. And isn’t he married to Lois Lane? Who was famously Superman’s girlfriend, so. Yeah. _Duh._ Wow, how did I not see that before?”

It was… so obvious now. So, _so_ obvious. He’d need to look at pictures of Clark Kent next to Superman, but all Clark did was wear glasses. 

Glasses!

How did that fool anyone?

Bruce laughed, loud, making Tim flinch when he ruffled Tim’s hair, _again._

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but when Tim looked over at Bruce, his eyes a little wide, all he saw was Bruce smiling at him brightly. 

Kind of like how he looked at Damian and Jason, sometimes. When they were doing something good. It was usually followed by Bruce saying something about being proud, and… just. _What?_

_Why…_

Why would Bruce be _proud_ Tim had figured everything out? Shouldn’t he be mad??

Superheroes kept their identities secret for a reason! They were literally called _secret_ identities. He should be annoyed Tim figured them out. 

_Tim_ would be annoyed if people figured out his secrets, when he didn’t want them to.

“How do you even _know_ reporters from Metropolis?” Damian asked, from where he was still leaning up against his dad’s chest, but was completely over his sad feeling, just based on his tone. He sounded normal again.

“I read the Daily Planet?” Tim said. It wasn’t a lie, either. He really did. He always loved seeing the superhero news there, and the Daily Planet was the least biased source for superhero stuff.

Tim knew why, now. They literally employed Superman and his wife. 

Wow. 

Maybe they _weren’t_ unbiased then. Tim just agreed with their bias… 

“Of course you do,” Jason grumbled, then sat up quickly and demanded, “Wait. So you were never scared of Bruce, you were just _starstruck?_ Ugh, I almost _hugged_ you over that.”

“What?” Tim said, startled. What did that mean?? Jason had never hugged him. Tim was glad for that, because he wasn’t sure how he’d react to that. 

“And _that’s_ why you freak out around Dick,” Jason continued, realization dawning on his face, “You’re such a _dork.”_

He— yeah. Maybe. Tim ducked his head, trying to hide how his cheeks were definitely probably heating up. Nightwing was his _favorite,_ he couldn’t help how he reacted. He was trying _really, very_ hard not to be a total dweeb. It was just too hard. 

“Dad,” Damian said, thankfully pulling everyones eyes off of Tim. _Finally._ “Can we go home?”

Bruce sighed, and pat at Damian’s leg, where he was still holding Damian, and said, “Not yet, bud. We have a few things to talk about.” 

“Wait, like what?” Jason asked, echoing Tim’s own thoughts. 

Because.

Now they’d talked about Tim _knowing._

And Bruce wasn’t mad. For some reason.

So…

What else is there to talk about.

“Yes,” Bruce said, through _another_ sigh. With how much Bruce was sighing, Tim knew it couldn’t be good. 

Bruce didn’t say anything for solid 60 seconds, and apparently that was way too long of a pause for Selina, because she shifted and said, through a grin, “You know how your dad has a _problem?”_

“Uh, yeah,” Jason said, slowly, “Which one are we talking about?” 

“Selina,” Bruce groaned, but Selina didn’t care, because she just smiled wider. 

“The one that involves bringing random children home,” she said smugly. 

“You did _not_ bring that assassin home,” Jason snapped, and all hell broke loose. 

Tim had no idea what they were talking about, but both Jason and Damian started arguing over each other, and Bruce was talking over them, and Selina wasn’t talking, but she was smiling proudly at the chaos, and all Tim could do was sink into the couch further and try to resist the urge to cover his ears from all the yelling. 

At least they weren’t yelling at him.

He was fine with all this, whoever the assassin girl was, if it meant they forgot about him again, and stopped asking him questions. 

Probably. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No proofing we die like Robin!!!! But seriously I'll proof tomorrow. I'm tired and didn't mean to stay up late finishing this oops. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and commenting and everything!!! ❤️ you guys! :D


	22. Cassandra

Cassandra didn’t understand a thing going on. 

Not a thing.

Nothing made sense anymore. 

Her mission had gone so, so bad. Her trainer was not going to be happy.

The man with the cape…Batman _. Her target_ made no sense. 

Distract him had been the mission. She distracted him. Sure, she did that by helping him with whatever he was doing, and protecting him, and letting him give her food, but it was certainly distracting! He sometimes stopped paying attention to his surroundings and got startled by very simple things. Like the man without the cape— _Nightwing,_ that was his noise. The noise Batman kept insisting she use—landing on the roof behind them. Or the lady that was her trainer’s trainer appearing in her sleeping place. 

Once her trainer’s trainer appeared, Cassandra’s confusion only increased. She thought once the lady got there, and her mission came to an end, everything would start making sense again, but _no._

Because she used the same noise Batman had given her. _Cassandra._ And looked down at her with fake mean covering up her inside approval. 

What did that mean?

 _Then,_ she gave Cassandra to Batman. Not even as a mission. Just. As a gift, almost? 

Her trainer was _not_ going to be happy. 

But Batman was really nice, and Cassandra liked it when he was around. He kept teaching her how to make noises, and he was _really_ insistent that she learn how to make the specific noises that meant _Batman_ and _Catwoman_ and _eat_ and _food_ but he was always happy proud kind whenever she made the noises right. 

She just wished he let her come with him to whatever had him scared worried determined. Instead, he made her stay with _Nightwing,_ and Nightwing gave her her blanket and put her inside a car and was now bringing her somewhere. 

Nightwing was kind nervous worried, at least. She didn’t know why he was nervous worried, but he was kind, and promised he would keep her warm, like her blanket did. Or _safe,_ like he kept saying. 

She didn’t know what that noise meant, but he was very serious about it. And her trainer’s trainer gave her to Batman, and Batman told her to go with Nightwing. So she did. Even though she didn’t want to.

Now Nightwing was making a lot of noises as they headed to somewhere outside the city. 

Cassandra stared at Nightwing as she tried to understand what he was doing. Or. What his noises meant.

Noises meant _things._

But she didn’t recognize any of his sounds. All she understood was nervous worried.

His nervous relaxed, however, the longer they were in the car. 

And when they entered a secret passage, he let out a breath and smiled at her. 

“Cassandra,” he said, along with more noises, then “Batcave.” 

_Bat_

That was something belonging to Batman. Maybe the area they were in? Nightwing was motioning to outside the car.

As they finally came to a stop, Cassandra looked around and took in everything around the car. 

It looked a lot like her trainer’s place. Dark. Underground. Filled with equipment. 

This was Batman’s training place. 

Was Batman her new trainer? 

Excitement bubbled up as she started pressing all the buttons on the door, trying to find the one that opened it. She wanted to see the new training place. 

She would like Batman to be her new trainer very much. If he stayed kind soft concerned. 

Her trainer was… much more harsh than Batman had been so far. And none of Batman’s nice had been fake, so Cassandra doubted he would turn mean. All his other people seemed to love him, not fear him. So if he trained _them,_ and he was going to train _her,_ it couldn’t be anything but good. 

“Cassandra,” Nightwing said again, as she was still trying to get the door open. She found what looked like the levers that always opened car doors, but it wasn’t opening. 

He made more noises and paused. When Cassandra didn’t react, he sighed. 

“Okay,” he said, and Cassandra recognized that sound. Batman and Catwoman said it a lot. She didn’t know what, exactly, it meant, but they said it whenever Cassandra wasn’t understanding and they were giving up. 

What did he want from her? All his body was saying was tired worried. His nervous was mostly gone. It was a little there, underneath, but it no longer overpowered him and led his actions. 

Nightwing smiled at her and pressed a button on his door, which made her door click loudly. She tried the lever again, and this time the door opened. 

“Ah,” another man said, from deeper in the cave. Cassandra jumped, then looked over at the older man, who was dressed up in very nicely kept clothes. He kept making noises, all of them directed at Nightwing, who smiled at the man. 

They loved each other, she could tell that much. Soft, care, and relief, was what both were showing. Both were very happy the other one was there, and not hurt. 

Nightwing made some noises back, at the old man, and ended it with, “Cassandra,” as he motioned for her. Cassandra bounced over to where Nightwing was, leaving her blanket behind in the car. If this was one of the trainers, maybe, she probably should not be carrying around her blanket. It wouldn’t seem… strong. Maybe. 

Was this another trainer? She knew others at the old place that had many trainers. She only had the one, but most others had more than one.

“Hi, _Miss_ Cassandra,” the man said, she didn’t know what the middle noise meant, but she recognized the rest. 

_Hi, Cassandra. Hi, Cassandra. Hi, Cassandra._ They said that a lot, when they wanted her attention. What did _hi_ mean? Give me your attention? 

“Cassandra, Alfred,” Nightwing said, pointing at the other man, “Alfred.” 

_Alfred._ That was his noise. “Alfred,” she repeated dutifully. She liked that they kept teaching her all the noises. Obviously they didn’t know how to communicate like her and her trainer. They used _this_ method. Maybe she could teach them her method, too? 

No. She wasn’t the trainer. They would not want her to teach. 

_Alfred_ smiled warmly at her, and she was overwhelmed by the intensity of him. Kind. Kind love gentle loyal concerned protective. Fierce. Mixed together, all at once, all well concealed by the graceful way he held himself. 

She didn’t know why, but she knew Alfred would protect _her._ From anything. Just like he would do for Nightwing, because he turned his gaze back to Nightwing and his intensity remained. Usually people dimmed, when they looked away from the person they care about like that, but he didn’t dim. Because he was kind love gentle loyal concerned protective of Nightwing, too. 

So _was_ he a trainer, or did he… do something else? Protect them? She had seen adults doing _protecting_ of little ones, when following her trainer around. Sometimes that was all adults did. But she had never had an adult like that, so she did not understand it. 

Alfred and Nightwing kept making noises back and forth, neither of them looking at her anymore, so Cassandra started looking around the training area. 

There was quite a lot of training things her trainer had. Punching bags. Exercise equipment. A lot of technology. She had never been taught how to use the technology, but she had seen her trainer use it. 

Nightwing made a choked sound, so Cassandra snapped her attention back to him. He looked nervous. _Stressed_ nervous. He ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. 

_Very_ stressed nervous.

When he looked down at Cassandra, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Why was he so stressed? He wasn’t stressed before. How did talking to the— _Alfred_ make him stressed?

“Hi,” she tried. Because that was what they said when they’re asking for her attention. Maybe it worked both ways. Cassandra wanted Nightwing to tell her what to do, now. Maybe if she could do what he wanted her to do, he wouldn’t be so stressed.

Nightwing’s laughter was so sudden, it made Cassandra jump. It bubbled out of him like water, getting too hot and bubbling up over its container. It was all stress stress relief amusement, and once he was done, he smiled brightly and said, “Hi, Cassandra,” back as he walked the few steps over toward her and knelt down in front of her. 

And oh. Did she need to say it all? “Hi, Cassandra,” she repeated. 

Nodding, Nightwing pointed at her, and said, “Cassandra,” back at her, mixed with something else. A different sound. _“Yes.”_

Another sound Batman said a lot. Whenever he approved of her work. 

He pointed at himself, and said, “Nightwing,” like he thought he needed to teach her that again.

But he didn’t. Because she knew that already. “Nightwing,” she repeated, anyway, nodding as she did.

Nightwing smiled again, his nose scrunching up as he did. He reached up toward his face and slowly peeled off his mask, so she could see his whole face for the first time. Pointing back at himself, Nightwing said, “Dick,” this time. Repeating that noise over and over, just like they always did when they wanted her to learn a noise. 

But _Dick?_

Did he have two noises? Like the food Batman gave her? It was both ‘food’ and ‘eat.’ 

So Nightwing was both ‘Nightwing’ and ‘Dick?’ 

“Dick,” she repeated, trying to make her mouth move in the same way hid did, after Nightwing said it a couple more times. 

After she’d said it a couple times, too, Nightwing smiled and said the same, “ _Yes,”_ sound they always said. 

Nightwing then held his mask back up to his face and said, “Nightwing.” 

“Nightwing,” she said, a little unsure. So two noises meant him. 

_Why_ did two noises mean him? None of them made any sense.

He took the mask down and said, “Dick,” then held it back to his face and said “Nightwing,” and repeated that several times.

So… his noise was Nightwing with the mask? But Dick without?

Cassandra said, “Dick,” when he had the mask down and paused, waiting for her to answer. She didn’t understand _why_ what he was wearing changed his sound, but clearly that was what he was trying to teach her. 

And it was what he was trying to teach her, because he smiled brightly when she said it, then held the mask back up to his face. 

“Nightwing,” she said, frowning a little, even as Nightwing lit up even more. 

Wouldn’t it be easier to have just one sound that meant him? Why did things have to have two sounds? And how did they know which things had two sounds?

After she’d repeated the correct sound a couple times, Nightwing jumped up and bounced over to the technology in the middle of the room, and started pressing a bunch of buttons. A big screen in front of him lit up, and a picture of Batman appeared a few seconds later. 

“Batman” Cassandra said, as she followed Nightwing to the chair he was sitting at, and looked at the screen. Now what was he doing?

They had the strangest methods for training she’d ever seen. 

“Yes,” Nightwing said, still smiling. His body was not longer stressed. He was happy proud excited. 

At least she was doing good. 

And he made that same sound, again. _Yes._ She still didn’t know what it referred to, but they always said that when happy approving. 

“Yes,” she repeated, anyway. Because they liked it when she repeated their sounds. And she was happy approving of being trained. 

Not that _that_ mattered. 

Nightwing kept pressing buttons, and after a moment, another picture of Batman appeared. Although, now it was Batman without his mask on. She was pretty sure…

It was the same man. Same body, same mouth, same gentle fierceness with the way he held himself. Had to be Batman.

“Bruce,” Nightwing… _Dick_ said. He didn’t have a mask on, his noise was _Dick._ Dick pointed at the man in the picture and repeated, “Bruce” a few more times. 

Then, before asking Cassandra to repeat that sound, he dragged part of Batman over to _Bruce._ Just Batman’s mask. And he put it on top of Bruce’s face, and yes. Cassandra was right. That was Batman without his mask. Now he had it on, because _Dick_ put the mask on him. 

“Batman,” Nightwing said, anyway, as he pointed back at the image.

“Batman,” Cassandra agreed. She knew that. 

“Bruce,” he repeated, taking the mask back off him. 

And oh. ‘Bruce’ was his noise without the mask, like ‘Dick’ was Nightwing’s noise. 

They both had two noises. 

Did _Cassandra_ have a different noise when she had a mask on or off? Batman always called her Cassandra when she didn’t have the mask on, right?

No. He called her Cassandra when it was up, too. So did Catwoman. And the lady that was her trainer’s trainer. Cassandra had her mask on when the lady called her Cassandra. 

Did Catwoman have a different noise? Batgirl? Did Alfred wear a mask? And have a different noise then?

Cassandra looked around, and was a little surprised to see Alfred wasn’t in the cave with them anymore. He was very sneaky. She would have to keep a better eye on him. 

“Yes,” Dick said cheerfully, “Good.” He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her toward him, squeezing her a little. 

She froze up, a little unsure about what he was doing. She couldn’t attack him. That would not make Batman happy. And if they were her new trainers, she needed to not make any of them unhappy.

 _Dick_ seemed happy with her, though, _proud_ that she understood what he was teaching her. So why was he touching her? 

It wasn’t hurting. So it wasn’t a punishment. It felt… almost nice. Warm and good. It would, that is, if she knew what it meant, and what its purpose was.

Dick turned to embarrassed sad regretful, and let go of her very quickly. 

“Cassandra,” he said, softly, ducking his head a little so it was more level with hers, “Good.” He pat her on the top of the head and widened his smile and said more noises, but she didn’t recognize any of them as noises he repeated a lot. 

She would just have to pay more attention, to figure out what all of it meant. 

“Okay,” Dick said, after he pressed more buttons on the computer so it turned off. He said more noises, and pointed back toward another room. 

Cassandra followed obediently when he stood and walked that way, knowing that was what he wanted. Upon entering the other room, she realized it was the cleaning room. Her trainer had one of those, too. Where she stood under water and made herself clean. She hadn’t been clean since her trainer sent her on this mission, so she was eager to wash her hair and body. Even if the cold water wasn’t fun to be in. 

Dick opened one of the doors, one of dozens along the walls, and pulled out a new pair of clothes that were way too small for him. When he handed them to Cassandra, she lit up. Because she _and_ her clothes would be clean, too. 

That was all very good. Cassandra could not be happier.

Dick awkwardly pointed back toward the second room, where the water was, and seemed to be asking if she could do it by herself. 

Of course she could. 

So she nodded and went into the water room, ready to get clean. 

She set her clothes down on a bench that looked like it stayed dry, and went and found where the soap was. 

The water looked easy to operate. Just turn a nob, and it turned on the spray. 

When she turned it on, however, after she’d freed herself of her uniform, she jumped at the sudden splash of water. 

Because… it was _warm._

 _Warm_ and so, so nice. She was thrilled. 

Cassandra spent probably way too long in the water, scrubbing the soap through her hair and everywhere several times, just so she could enjoy the warmth. Her blanket was very nice for keeping her warm, but the water felt like it was reaching her core, and it was good compared to being outside. Or in her sleeping place. When she slept that night, she would be able to remember the warmth of the water and sleep easier. 

Maybe the cleaning water would _always_ be warm here, like it was _always_ cold in her old training place. 

She would not be upset by that, at all. 

Finally, reluctantly, she turned off the water and used the big piece of cloth hanging on the wall to dry herself and her hair, before she put on the clothes Dick gave her.

Then, she walked back out of the cleaning rooms to see a lot more people. 

_A lot_ more. 

There were three other people her size, she noticed right off. So Batman had others like her?

She’d never been trained along side others like her. Except the boy, sometimes. He looked a lot like _this_ boy, actually. The middle sized boy of the three standing with Batman. Except _that_ boy was smaller. And angrier. And meaner. _This_ boy looked tired wary happy. Maybe a little fear, too, deep down. But Batman was helping with that. She could tell he felt not scared with Batman around.

He must protect this boy, just like he’d protected her. 

There were two other boys, too. One, the biggest of the three, was tired annoyed high strung, and the littler one was excited happy anxious.

All three were staring at her, but none were mean, or showed any bad things. So that was good. None were a threat. 

And then, of course, there was Batman and Catwoman. 

Or, actually. Batman had his mask off. So his noise was _Bruce._ She wondered what Catwoman’s noise was, if she had a different one. 

“Hi, Cassandra,” Bruce said, tired happy relieved. He smiled wider, and turned to proud _very_ relieved, when he took a longer look at her. 

She didn’t know what she’d done to get proud, but she said, “Bruce,” just like Dick had taught her, and returned his smile with a grin of her own.

All that did was make _Bruce_ even happier.

Yes, she thought, she was going to like Batman-Bruce being her trainer very much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished it... 😭😁. She used a lot more nouns in her inner dialogue this time, but there was a lot more complex things going on. It's also exciting to see how quickly she's picking up on things. Cassandra is such a bright child. It'll be a while before she fully grasps what language is, but it's so cute to see her picking up on frequently used words and discern their meaning. 
> 
> I plan on participating a little in Whumptober, and my goal is to write five one shots (NOT 31, lol sorry) this week so I can post them throughout October..... wish me luck. Idk if I'll get it done. Then next weekend is my last weekend before my 'summer' vacation (lol), so my plan is to update next week and then probably skip two weeks, while I'm out of town. But sometimes I get a lot of down time, since really I'm just visiting family and they have like jobs and school and stuff, so there will be some days where our hanging out happens in the evening. So I might get time to write. Or my stay-at-home mom will fill up my time with her company. We'll see what happens! 
> 
> Thanks for being patient and for always being so kind in the comments. ❤️ You guys. :D


	23. Bruce

Bruce couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of relief he had, once he and the kids finally made it back to the cave to find Dick and Cassandra had made it back, just fine. 

It’d been a _long_ night, and Bruce knew there was still major problems ahead of them, but…

It was nice. 

To be home. And able to relax, even if for just a moment. 

Selina was chatting with the little boys, listening as Tim was prattling off about _something._ Jason looked amused, but mostly just _tired._ And Damian was still keeping pretty quiet. 

It’d been a long night for all of them.

Cassandra looked lost, Bruce thought, as she wandered around and observed everyone in the cave. 

She’d cleaned herself, which was great. And didn’t seen _un_ comfortable, there. Or particularly scared. But it was clear she had no idea what was going on, and Bruce didn’t quite know how to rectify it. 

“Did you bring her blanket,” Bruce asked Dick, once everyone was changed back into civvies, and ready to go back up into the manor. 

“Yeah,” Dick said, “she left it in the car.”

“Oh, hm. I thought she might be attached to it.” But if she’d just so easily left it in the car, and hadn’t made any moves to go get it…. “Maybe not.”

Dick looked up, from where he’d been reading through something on his tablet, and said thoughtfully, “No. I think you’re right. She got really upset when I touched it.” 

“She’s an _assassin,”_ Jason said, like he’d said at least ten times since Bruce told the kids she would be waiting for them at home. 

Bruce was trying not to lose patience with him. 

It was difficult.

Cassandra looked at him and cocked her head, then stared at Jason, which didn’t help at all. Because Jason shifted uncomfortably, and said, “Quit it.”

“Jay,” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his face. 

Dick slung his arm across Jason’s shoulders and said, “Nah, Jase. Don’t worry, she’s actually very sweet.”

“That’s how assassins get you,” Jason protested. 

“Yeah,” Dick said, “but she’s loyal to _us._ And _way_ more obedient than you. So really—”

Jason shrugged Dick off him and scowled. “I’m not obedient because obedience is for _dogs._ And how do we _know_ she’s loyal, it could be an act! _”_

 _“_ Jason _,”_ Bruce sighed louder. 

_“What?”_ Jason snapped. 

“Be nice,” Bruce settled on saying. 

He needed to sit Jason down separately, at some point. Actually talk through whatever was Jason’s problem. Jason wasn’t normally so… uncompassionate. 

“Why don’t you kids go get some more sleep,” he added, after checking his watch. It wasn’t quite 5am. The kids could sleep in, skip school. Have a peaceful morning. 

It would give Bruce a chance to figure out what to do with Cassandra.

That hope was dashed, however, when all the kids protested being ‘forced’ to go back to bed. 

“My windows are all broken,” Damian exclaimed. 

“No _way_ am I going back to sleep tonight,” Jason said. 

Tim simply shrugged and said, “I’m not tired.” 

“Then,” Alfred said, saving Bruce from figuring out what to do, next, “Shall I prepare an early breakfast?” 

Although, Bruce felt a little bad Alfred hadn’t even gone to bed, at all. “I don’t want you to miss out on sleep, too.” 

“Nonsense, sir. I believe we have all had too eventful a night to sleep now.” 

That was likely true. 

Would Bruce even be able to convince the kids to go to bed that night….?

Bruce sighed, again, but smiled slightly when Cassandra inched over closer, and offered him a tiny smile of her own. 

“Can I help?” Jason asked Alfred, after he scowled at Bruce one last time, “I want to help.” 

“Certainly,” Alfred said, as he and Jason made their way up the stairs, the two of them starting up pleasant conversation. 

“Come on Tim,” Dick said, a second later, “I want to hear all about how I’m so awesome I was recognizable just for being me.”

“Dick,” Damian whined, while Tim stammered, “That’s not really—“

“Shush, come on,” Dick said, grabbing Tim and Damian’s arms and pulling, “Let’s go upstairs.” 

Selina walked over to Bruce, now that the kids were scattering, but paused when Damian broke away from Dick and ran over, first. 

“Wait, Dad,” he said, “Are… You’re staying here, right?”

Bruce knelt down and pulled Damian into a hug. “Yeah, buddy. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

“Okay,” Damian paused, then whispered, “Are they coming back?”

“No,” Bruce promised, planting a kiss on the side of Daman’s face. 

Out of all the kids, Damian would need a one-on-one conversation the most. He’d never fully told Damian about Talia… 

The boy _knew_ he had a mother, of course. And knew that living with her was not a safe option, because she had a job and lived someplace not good for a child.

But…

Bruce had never _really_ told Damian about Talia. 

Up until that moment, there had been no reason to tell him. No reason to saddle a little child with the knowledge his mother was an assassin. A ‘bad guy.’ 

_Jason_ had a hard enough times, sometimes, dealing with the fact his father was a criminal. Worrying he’d turn out ‘bad’ just like him. 

The last thing Bruce wanted was for Damian to develop anxiety about something similar, too. 

Or for him to worry she was always around the corner, trying to steal him away. 

“We’ll talk later, okay?” he whispered, patting Damian on the back and letting go, “Why don’t you go on up with Dick, and check on Ace, okay?”

Damian nodded, then offered a small smile as he said, “Ace is getting all the treats today.” 

“I agree,” he said, as he stood, “he did a good job.” 

“So,” Selina said, once Damian had skipped up the stairs, trailing up behind Dick and Tim, “Maybe you should show this little girl the house.” 

“Right,” he agreed. 

Cassandra was still standing a few feet away, just observing them. When both he and Selina looked at her, she smiled a little brighter, but that was it. 

“Where’s your blanket?” Bruce asked, sure to say _blanket_ slowly. He hoped she could recognize the word, after having _just_ learned it. 

Apparently Cassandra remembered just fine, because she bounced, a little, then went over to the car where the blanket was still sitting. 

“Smart girl,” Selina observed, as Cassandra retrieved the blanket and brought it back to Bruce. 

Considering she’d _already_ learned to call Bruce ‘Bruce,’ off just a picture of him, Bruce was going to agree with the comment. 

“Bay-get,” Cassandra said, once she’d trotted back across the cave, the large blanket bundled up in her arms. 

“That’s right,” Bruce said, “Good girl. Let’s go put your blanket in your new room, okay?” 

“Bay-get,” she repeated, dutifully following after Bruce, once he made his way toward the stairs. 

“Yes. We’re going to put it in your room.” 

Selina followed the upstairs, to the family wing where Alfred had already prepared Cassandra a room, several days prior when Bruce told him about his intentions on bringing Cassandra home. 

It wasn’t super decorated, yet, but Alfred had at least collected up some clothing that would fit her, and made sure the room was aired out and the bedding was washed and free from dust. 

“Okay,” he said, once he’d opened the door to her room and motioned for her to go in first, “Why don’t you put it on the bed.” Then, maybe, they could go figure out breakfast. 

Cassandra looked up at him, then followed his finger, to where he was pointing at her bed. She hesitated, then stepped forward and slowly set the blanket down, looking back at him several times as she did. 

“It’s okay,” he tried, even though he knew she didn’t understand, “it’ll still be here later, when it’s bed time.” 

“This is your room, honey,” Selina said, placing her hands in Cassandra’s hair and starting to comb through it, once Cassandra had dropped the blanket on the bed, “No one will mess with your stuff in here.” 

“Oh, honey,” Selina added, when her fingers tugged a little at Cassandra’s hair,”You should brush out her hair while it’s wet. It is _tangled.”_

“Me?” Bruce asked, and Selina just gave him a _look._

 _“Yes,_ you. It’s way easier to comb out while it’s wet, trust me.” 

“Fine, fine,” Bruce grumbled, as he went over to the bathroom and dug through one of the drawers. He found a brush with wide teeth in it, and figured that was good enough. 

He’d never helped a girl with her hair before, but Dick liked to keep his hair pretty long. Not _long_ long, not down to his chin like Cassandra had, but it was long for Gotham Academy’s uniform standards. And Bruce had helped Dick slick his hair back plenty of times, when he was younger. 

Surely it was no different, helping a little girl with her hair. 

And hopefully Cassandra knew how to do her own hair, and just _hadn’t_ because she hadn’t been given a brush… 

Although there were combs sitting out on the counter, downstairs, right there in the changing area. She _could_ have easily done it herself, then… 

Bruce brought the brush back into the bedroom, and sat down on Cassandra’s bed. He held the brush out for her to take, but she didn’t.

Instead, she hesitantly walked over toward Bruce, and just stood there, right in front of him.

“Okay,” he said, with a sigh, “that’s okay.” He gently turned her around, and started working on the little rats nest that had formed on the back of her hair, brushing out the tangles from the bottom up. 

“Oh honey,” Selina said, a second later. Bruce looked up, but saw she was talking to Cassandra, and not him. “You’re breaking my heart.” 

“What?” Bruce asked, leaning forward, a little, to try and see what Selina was talking about. But Cassandra didn’t look any different than she normally did, when she was confused about what was happening, and not particularly upset or excited about it, either. 

Selina ignored him, and knelt down right in front of Cassandra, taking her hands into hers. She smiled, and swung Cassandra’s hands, as she said, “You are a beautiful little girl, you know that?” 

“Is she okay?” Bruce asked, as he resumed brushing out Cassandra’s hair. Had he scared her? He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done, if so. 

“Yep,” Selina said, smiling sweetly up at Cassandra, “She’s just fine. Aren't you, kitten?”

Bruce was careful, as he worked, to make sure he wasn’t pulling at Cassandra’s scalp. It really was no different than helping Dick slick his hair back, all those years ago. 

Or even Jason, now. With his curly hair that refused to be tamed, sometimes. 

“You are going to make all the other little girls at school so jealous,” Selina continued prattling on, running her thumbs across Cassandra’s hands, “You know that? You are so cute and sweet and smart.” 

Cassandra took a deep breath, as Selina pulled one of her hands close and kissed it. “There ya go,” she said, “it’s okay. Just relax. Bruce is gonna take such good care of you, you don’t ever have to be afraid of him.” 

“Why is she scared?” Bruce asked. Should he stop brushing her hair? He was trying very hard not to cause any sort of discomfort. 

Selina shrugged, and he didn’t know what to do, to convince Cassandra of anything. Not without the ability to just _ask_ why she was scared. 

At least with Jason, he was able to scream at him whenever scared. And listen, when Bruce talked him down. 

Although with David Cain as a father, Bruce didn’t have to stretch his imagination far to figure it out…

So Bruce just kept working on her hair, slowly and methodically brushing out the weeks worth of tangles she’d accumulated, while Selina kept stroking her hands. 

“We should do a girls afternoon, just you and me, Cassie,” she said, after another minute had passed, “You’re going to get sick of all these boys very fast.” 

“No,” Bruce hummed, keeping his voice gentle, “She won’t.” 

“Yes, she will,” Selina said, holding Cassandra’s hands up a little higher, showing the little girl her own fingernails, “We can do manicures. Would you like that?”

Cassandra didn’t answer, but her shoulders had relaxed a fraction of an inch. Bruce hadn’t even noticed how tense she was, until she’d started to release that tension. 

“I bet you would,” Selina continued, “Do you have any nail polish, Bruce?”

“Just clear coat,” he answered. They _might_ have some black. Or orange. Somewhere. From halloween at some point, but that was it. 

“Boys,” Selina huffed, “Fine. You and me will go to the mall and buy some nail polish.” 

Bruce ran the brush through all of Cassandra’s hair one more time, now that all the tangles were out and said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He wasn’t super fond of Selina bringing Cassandra out, into public, when they weren’t sure if the League was still around. 

Or if Cain was going to retaliate and take Cassandra back.

Just because _Talia_ didn’t care if Bruce took her, didn’t mean _David Cain_ didn’t care.

Bruce was willing to bet David Cain would have some major objections. 

“Fine,” Selina said, a little dramatically, “We’ll go to the drug store, down the street. Does that sound fair?” 

“Can’t you order that stuff online?” Bruce asked, setting the brush down next to him on the bed. 

“Not and know exactly what color we’re getting,” Selina groaned dramatically. She looked back at Cassandra and said, “He’s had you an hour and he’s already unbearably overprotective.” 

“What’s that meme?” he asked, smiling when Selina rolled her eyes. He wouldn’t point out how _she_ was being overprotective, too. 

“All done,” Bruce said, patting Cassandra on the head. She turned and looked at him, then smiled sweetly. 

“Wasn’t anything to be afraid of, right?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her. He wasn’t sure how she’d react to a hug, if she was scared to just get her hair brushed. There was, of course, always the possibility she’d react negatively and attack him, but she didn’t.

Instead, she froze up, briefly. But she wasn’t pulling away, or panicking. So Bruce pulled her close to make it an _actual_ hug. 

She took a deep breath, then leaned in, a little. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he said, squeezing her a little before letting go. 

It was almost like a dream, _finally_ having the little girl he’d been worrying about for weeks _home._

He had a lot to figure out, to make her stay legal. And permanent. And would probably have to face David Cain, at some point. 

But he was honestly so happy. 

“How about we go find everyone else, and see what’s for breakfast, yeah?” he said, standing up and patting Cassandra on the head. 

Now he just had to get all the other kids happy about it, too. 

Specifically Jason… 

Cassandra didn’t respond, of course, but she kept her smile as she followed Bruce and Selina. 

And, somehow, Bruce doubted Jason would stay bitter about it long. There was just no way he’d be able to, with how sweet Cassandra’s smile was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to Cassandra learning and growing with her new family 😭 Bruce having a baby and then raising a whole gaggle of kids has made him SOFT. I so disagree with canon that he's an asshole to his kids. F- DC, that's not how it happens. Lol 
> 
> I'm leaving for my vacation tomorrow, so I'll see y'all when I get back! I might be updating Reclaiming Innocence some while away, idk. We'll see. I just have a lot written for it. 
> 
> Hopefully once I get back I'll get back on a regular schedule with this AND Jason and the Three Terrors. I actually have the next chapter of that half done, so it's not on hiatus like it seems. I HAVE been working on it, and very recently. And thinking through it. Anywayyyyyy
> 
> Thanks for reading y'all. ❤️ you


	24. Bruce

Breakfast was a busy affair. 

There were _seven_ people sitting around the table. 

Seven. 

When had the family gotten so _big?_

And despite there being such a full table, Cassandra was the one who stole everyone’s attention. 

Bruce had seen it, a little, when he and Selina fed Cassandra dinner the night before, but he hadn’t _fully_ realized how bad it was. 

Cassandra had no table manners. 

Absolutely none. 

Alfred served them all a very basic breakfast. Eggs, sausage, fruit, and toast. Bruce put Cassandra together a plate, while the boys all served themselves. And the second he set the plate down in front of her, she absolutely devoured everything.

With her hands. Even though Bruce had handed her a fork. 

She looked perfectly content. Not quite smiling, but her feet kicking under the table as she shoveled in bite after bite and looked around at everyone sitting around the table. 

“You’re not supposed to eat with your mouth open,” Damian said, after a moment. 

Jason snorted, but everyone, thankfully, focused on eating their own food. 

“Damian,” Bruce said, turning his focus to his youngest as he tried to figure out how to phrase it, “she has a lot of bad habits. We will work on fixing them all, okay? We just can’t do them all at once.” 

And eating with her mouth shut was certainly low on the list. 

Very, very low. 

“For now, let’s focus on any habits that cause harm, first,” like following Batman around and dropping down on thugs without warning, “and learning to talk. Okay?” 

“Yeah, like being an _assassin,”_ Jason said. 

Selina, of all people, shot Jason a glare, so he snapped back, “Well she _is_ one, and everyone seems to be _ignoring_ that.” 

“Jason, that’s enough,” Bruce said, while Dick said, “No one’s forgotten that.” 

Cassandra furrowed her brow, and looked over at Bruce. Did she understand the gist of conversations? Could she tell Jason didn’t like her? Bruce kind of hoped she _couldn’t._ Because he didn’t want Jason’s first interaction with his future sister to be so… negative. 

“But—“ Jason started, but Alfred stepped into the room and cut him off. 

“It will do you all well to treat young Miss Cassandra with the same compassion you have given each other throughout the years,” he said, “She might not understand you now, but she will learn English quickly, and she will not forget how you treated her in her early days here.” 

God bless Alfred. 

“Exactly,” Bruce said, nodding as he locked eyes with Jason, “And like it or not, she is here now, and she _will_ be part of this family.” 

“This stupid family sucks, anyway,” Jason grumbled, as he pushed his chair back and hopped up. 

“Jason,” Bruce tried, but Jason ignored him and stomped out of the room. 

Bruce massaged his temples, and decided to just finish up breakfast, and hope none of the other kids threw a fit.

Sometimes Jason needed his space, anyway. 

\- - -

The rest of breakfast passed fairly peacefully. The boys chattered on about random topics, once everyone got over Jason’s outburst. Cassandra kept eating, and asked for more food a couple times, by telling either Bruce or Selina “eat.” 

Bruce continued building the list in his head of the things they needed to work on. Getting Cassandra to only eat until full was near the top. 

Although he figured they could go at that like they had with Jason. By just letting her eat until she trusted the food would always keep coming. 

Breakfast eventually came to an end, and the kids all scattered. Alfred offered to take Cassandra, and acquaint her to both him and the rest of the Manor, and Bruce had no idea where Selina went, but when he found himself alone, he figured it was as good an opportunity as any to deal with Jason. 

And fix Damian’s windows. 

\- - - 

“Knock, knock,” Bruce said, as he knocked on Jason’s door hard enough that the already cracked door opened wide, “I need your help.” 

Jason looked up from where he was laying on his bed, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, just staring up at the ceiling. 

At least he wasn’t actively throwing a fit. Just… pouting about it. Bruce could deal with that. 

“With what,” Jason asked flatly, cutting his eyes over to stare dully at Bruce. 

“Fixing Damian’s windows, I need an extra set of hands.” 

“Make Damian help,” Jason said, returning his gaze back up to the ceiling. 

“Nope. He’s eight, you’re thirteen. I trust you not to cut yourself on the glass way more than I trust him.” 

Jason grumbled, but he sat up and started trudging toward the door.

“Put on some shoes,” Bruce said, as he turned to leave the room, content Jason was coming, “the glass hasn’t been cleaned up yet.”

“Why can’t you hire someone to do this,” Jason grumbled, but Bruce heard him turn and head toward his closet, so he went on into Damian’s room.

It took Jason several minutes to put shoes on. It almost got to the point Bruce went back to drag him out of his room, but Jason did, finally, appear in Damian’s doorway. 

“Ugh, why don’t you use a vacuum,” Jason complained, when he saw how Bruce was knelt down, picking up the larger pieces of glass off the carpet, “no way am I picking glass up with my hands.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” Bruce said, dumping his current handful into the garbage can he’d pulled from the bathroom, “you get to vacuum once I have all the big pieces picked up.” 

They worked in mostly silence. Bruce continued picking out the larger pieces of glass from the carpet, and Jason went over the carpet about ten times with the vacuum, until they stopped hearing the staticky sound of little bits of glass being sucked up. Finally, after nearly 45 minutes of work, the carpet felt free of glass, and Bruce hoped it was free enough that Damian or Ace wouldn’t hurt themselves playing in there. 

Alfred would likely go over the carpet a few more times, with a different vacuum, anyway. Just in case. 

Jason’s attitude melted away, the longer he kept up the repetitive task of vacuuming, and by the time Bruce pulled out the tools they’d need to remove all three of Damian’s old windows, his mood had improved significantly. 

“We’re gonna use power tools?” Jason asked, clearly trying to hide his excitement at the prospect. 

“Well, a nail gun, but that’s it.” 

“Can I use the nail gun?” Jason asked, and Bruce smiled. 

“We’ll see. Come help me remove the framing, first.” 

Bruce walked Jason through every step of removing the old windows, letting Jason give each task a try, before having him repeat the steps on one of the other two windows, while Bruce did the third. Jason needed help, especially with the top half of the windows, since he couldn’t reach the very top, but he was doing great, and took right to the job.

Working together like that, they had all three old windows removed within the hour, and were ready to install the new windows.

“Why do you just _have_ new windows laying around,” Jason asked, while he held the new window in place so Bruce could insert shims around them. 

“Windows break,” Bruce said, with a shrug, “especially with Dick around.”

“Really?” Jason asked, grinning wide, “What did he do?” 

“When he was ten, he decided he was going to learn how to use nunchucks.” 

“ _No.”_

“It was just as bad as you’re imagining,” Bruce said, with a sigh. Had Dick just _asked_ to be trained, it wouldn’t have been nearly as bad. But instead, he brought a pair up into his bedroom and tried doing tricks he saw online and sent them through his windows. 

Twice. 

Alfred made Bruce ground him, after the second time. 

“Is that why you know how to change windows?” Jason asked, “I didn’t know you knew carpentry.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow and asked, “Who do you think built the cave?”

Jason blinked, and seemed to process the fact that _all_ the walls downstairs were framed out and build by Bruce. Alfred helped a ton, of course, but Bruce was capable of doing everything on his own. 

“But,” Jason said, “you can’t even make pasta!” 

“I can too,” Bruce protested, “I made spaghetti a few months ago, remember?” 

“ _Yeah,_ and it was _so awful._ Spaghetti isn’t supposed to be crunchy, Bruce!” 

“Stop being a brat,” Bruce said lightly, as he picked up the nail gun, now that all they had left to do was nail the frame back in place. 

And, well, caulk up the outside, but he’d do that later. He’d need to get a ladder out to do that. 

Or… see if Clark was willing to float up and do it for him… 

“Come here, hold the nail gun,” Bruce said, as he passed the nail gun over to Jason, sure to make sure he didn’t point it at Bruce or put his finger on the trigger quite yet. 

Jason took right to the new task, and grinned wide each time he got to ‘pull the trigger’ and ‘shoot’ the nails into the frame. 

“You’re a natural, son,” Bruce said, once they were done. 

They spent a few minutes cleaning up, and once they got everything in the trash bag and all the tools put away, Bruce walked over to Damian’s bed and sat down. He didn’t ask, but Jason followed and sat next to him, looking proudly at the new windows they’d installed. 

“So,” Bruce said, keeping his voice conversational, in hopes of preventing Jason jumping straight to defense, “What is it you don’t like about Cassandra?” 

Jason scowled, and deadpanned, “She’s an assassin.” 

“She’s a child, Jason,” Bruce responded, leaning back on his arms, one he placed right behind Jason, “She can’t help how she was raised.” 

That, apparently, wasn’t something Jason had fully considered. Because he deflated, just a touch, and frowned. After a moment, he asked, “Is it really a good idea, stealing one of their kids when they _just_ invaded the manor?” 

Bruce shrugged. It wasn’t the _best_ idea, he supposed. But there wasn’t any _better_ options for Cassandra. 

“We’re going to step up security,” he said, “And we’re _already_ protecting Damian from the league, it will be no more difficult to protect Cassandra as well.” Bruce knew for a fact Jason was aware of _Damian’s_ connection to the league. 

Jason pulled his legs up on the bed, and wrapped his arms around his knees, without saying anything in response. 

So Bruce leaned forward so he could see Jason’s face and asked, “Jay?” 

He didn’t look close to tears, but Bruce knew how easy it was to push Jason in that direction when he went quiet like that. 

“What,” Jason asked, after a second, then cleared his throat, “what were they going to do to him?” 

So it _was_ the near-kidnapping that was really bothering him. Not Cassandra. 

“Nothing bad,” Bruce soothed, placing a hand on Jason’s back so he could rub circles, “It was a custody dispute, that’s it.” 

“It’s just,” Jason said in a small voice, “On the street, you only get kidnapped for—for—“

“I know buddy,” Bruce cut in, dragging Jason into his side, “I know. I’m sorry this happened.” 

Out of all the kids, Bruce would have thought _Damian_ have the hardest time with it. 

But Jason was the one who’d had the hardest time feeling safe in the manor. Feeling safe at all. 

And now someone had broke in and proved it was possible to hurt them. 

“You weren’t even there,” Jason whined, and Bruce wrapped his arms around him a little tighter. 

“I know, I’m sorry. But you did a great job,” Bruce said. Better than great. “You followed the plan perfectly. This is why we practiced, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jason nearly cried, “but you didn’t say anyone would try to _kidnap_ one of us from our _bed.”_

It was going to take so long for Jason to feel safe again, Bruce just knew it. They’d established a safe place for him, and then the League of Assassins ripped it out from under him. 

Bruce had plenty of reasons to hate the League, but somehow his hatred grew tenfold, just for doing _this._

“It’ll never happen again,” he promised, “We’re increasing security, they probably won’t even _try_ again.” If Talia was smart, she’d just give up. 

“But now we have one of their assassins they sent after you _in the house._ ”

“Jason,” Bruce said, as gently as possible, “I have spent every night with her for the past few weeks, and I _promise_ you she’s a sweet, harmless little girl.” 

“She’s not harmless,” Jason grumbled, and Bruce had to give him that.

“Okay, fine. But she means no harm.” 

“But what if,” Jason said, his voice rising as he started to work himself up again. 

Bruce just tightened his arms and listened. 

“What if, next time they invade, she’s here and she sides with them cause they raised her, and—“

“Jay,” Bruce cut in, which just made Jason devolve completely into sobs. He finally turned into Bruce’s hug, and returned it as he cried right into Bruce’s shirt for a minute. 

“I felt so helpless,” he eventually said, through his tears, “When they— I couldn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said into Jason’s hair. 

“I tried,” Jason continued, “I tried to stop them, but they were so much stronger and bigger than me.” 

Bruce shifted, so one of his hands was free to comb through Jason’s hair, and said, “You’re just a kid, Jason. You did good. You called for help when you needed it.” 

“I bet Dick could have handled them at thirteen,” Jason grumbled.

And Bruce said, “Stop comparing yourself to Dick,” before Jason could go any further with that. He _hated_ that Jason ever felt need to ‘live up’ to Dick. 

Couldn’t he see that Jason was just as amazing as Dick, just in different ways? That was how people _worked._ They were all different. 

“See,” Jason said, pushing away from Bruce, “You don’t even deny it.” 

Bruce let go, but leaned down so he was looking directly at Jason. “You did everything right. It turned out okay. It’s perfectly okay to ask for help, and it’s okay to _need_ help. And Dick at thirteen-years-old most certainly _did_ need help sometimes, too.” 

Jason crossed his arms and scowled, as he grumbled, “Yeah, right.” 

“You _know_ the thing I want most for you in the entire _world_ is for you to just be a kid,” Bruce said, making Jason just advert his eyes further. 

They’d been over that _many_ times. Usually in this exact context. Him complaining about still being a kid, and therefore unable to do everything adults did. 

Which, honestly, wasn’t _much._ Since Bruce was ‘too lenient’ on the boys, as Alfred told him at times. 

“I hate being a kid,” Jason grumbled. 

“You deserve to be a kid,” Bruce replied, like he always did. 

But Jason went off script, and startled Bruce a little when he asked, “Will you train me?” 

“I am training you,” he said. Because he _was._ They were working hard on learning how to run and work cases.

“No,” Jason said forcefully, finally looking back up at Bruce, “I mean _harder._ Like you did _Dick._ Train me so I can take out five ninjas by myself, so I can protect myself and protect Damian.” 

“Jase we just stepped up your training for running comms. Why don’t we—“

“ _No,”_ Jason snapped, “I need this, Bruce. I _need_ it.” 

Bruce didn’t agree. Jason _knew_ basic self defense, and for everything he couldn’t do, _Superman_ could. 

Or Bruce. Or Dick. Or whichever adult was with him, when whatever was happening. 

“I told you,” Bruce said, “I really don’t want you out there.” 

Having Jason out on the street, out there, fighting crime, putting his life on the line every night…

The whole point of taking Jason _home_ had been to keep him from that life. To keep him from getting hurt, fighting for his life, getting killed. Bruce had no doubt Jason had it in him to be just as great as Dick had been, as Robin. But that didn’t mean Jason _needed_ to go out. 

What Jason needed most was to be _safe._ Safe and secure and happy, growing up as a normal child with a family that loves him. 

“And I told _you,”_ Jason said, scowling again, “I don’t want to go out there. I just want to not be helpless. I just— I just don’t want to _ever_ have to watch someone hurt my little brother again.” 

“Jason,” Bruce tried to cut in, because Jason’s eyes were filling with tears again, and he’d do anything to prevent him from crying again.

Anything except let him go out like Robin did. 

“I-I— Dad, please,” Jason cried, “I can’t. What if Superman’s not there next time? What if Cassandra—what—“

“Okay,” Bruce said, pulling Jason back into his side as his crying picked up, “Okay, Jay. We’ll step it up. We’ll work on offensive measures.” 

But Bruce would hold Jason to his promise he didn’t want to go out. 

He _would._

No matter how heartbreaking Jason’s sobs got as he buried his face back into Bruce’s shirt. 

Bruce held him for several minutes, letting him cry as long as he needed. 

When he finally settled down, but before he pushed away, Bruce asked, “But Jason, I need you to make me a promise.” 

“What?” Jason asked, a little warily, as he sat up.

“Can you give Cassandra a chance?” 

Jason’s face screwed up, like he was about to start shouting his objections again, so Bruce cut him off before his started with, “Everyone deserves a chance, lad, and she might surprise you.” 

It took a second for Jason to catch the reference, but he scowled and crossed his arms once he did. “You _suck_ you know that? You really suck.” 

Bruce wrapped his arm back around Jason’s shoulders, and gave him a little side hug as he asked, “You know I would never do anything to put you in danger, right?” 

After a long hesitation, Jason finally admitted, “Yeah.” 

“And you trust me, don’t you?”

Again, Jason hesitated, but his shoulders relaxed and he, once again, agreed with a reluctant, “Yeah.”

“Then please give her a chance.” 

With a big, dramatic sigh, Jason sat back up and said, “Fine.” 

“I love you, kiddo,” Bruce said, as Jason got up and started to leave the room. 

Jason cheeks reddened, a little, as he turned and mumbled out, “yeah, yeah, I love you, too.” 

Bruce couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly Jason ran out of the room, after that. 

As he got up and finished gathering up the trash from their window project, Bruce hoped Jason would start treating Cassandra just as well as he’d been treating Tim, for the past few weeks. 

The two of them might have had very different childhoods, but Bruce thought Cassandra and Jason could find a lot of commonality between them. And once Cassandra had a better command of the English language, he had no doubt the two of them would get along marvelously. 

Jason just needed to not treat her like an enemy, now. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t. And hopefully neither would the other boys. 

All of them deserved to have a good relationship with their future sister. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who hasn't read Precedent yet, I used the line from RHATO #4 or whatever it was (maybe it was 1?? I forget, I put the proper reference in Precedent) where Bruce tells Jason during their first meeting 'sometimes people just have to be given a chance, and they'll surprise you.' (Referring to himself, because Jason had been bad mouthing 'people like Bruce Wayne' to batman, without knowing he's bruce, yet) Anyway. It was just a call back to that. 
> 
> I'm back from vacation! And have been for almost a week now. I got back late last Monday. I'm in mandatory quarantine right now (not because I'm sick, but because New York is New York), so I've been getting a ton of writing done on Reclaiming Innocence. :D I want to try and get some writing done for other long fics I have going on this account, but we'll see. My muse is really interested in RI. So. Whatever. I'm really glad it was so easy to shift back to this fic and get it out today! 
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone, I hope you all have a lovely week!


	25. Alfred

After breakfast, Alfred saw to helping Cassandra settle in a little better at Wayne Manor. 

While he knew she’d already come to trust Master Bruce, and therefore she might have taken to _him_ assisting better, Master Bruce was needed elsewhere. 

Alfred was, of course, not upset there were so many children in the house. On the contrary, it warmed him that Bruce had turned out so kind hearted that he brought children home. But even Alfred had to admit, they might have been in over their heads with four children at home, especially with one needing as much care as Master Bruce anticipated Cassandra would need. 

Cassandra had been, however, nothing but a delight thus far. Her table manners were abhorrent, and she did not understand a word anyone said to her, but her smile was sweet and infectious, and she was just as curious as any child Alfred had met. 

He could only pray she did not hold the violent tendencies Master Jason was fearing from her. 

“I’m Tim,” Tim was saying, when Alfred walked back into the dining room where he and Cassandra were the only two left at the table. He’d been relatively quiet throughout breakfast, as he often was when there were too many people in the room. Despite his shy nature, he could be quite the chatterbox when given undivided attention, and Alfred was honestly going to miss him, once his parents returned. 

Miss Cassandra continued staring at Tim and did not respond, so Tim pointed at himself and repeated, “Tim,” several times. 

And yet, Cassandra did not respond. She blinked at him, then turned her attention down toward her utensils that had gone untouched throughout breakfast, as she picked up the spoon and started inspecting it.

Tim’s shoulders dropped. “I guess it’s pretty annoying having everyone want you to do a new trick you just learned, over and over,” Tim said, seemingly toward Cassandra, but he turned toward Alfred in the last half of the sentence and shrugged.

“Yes, I can imagine it is,” Alfred agreed, from the doorway where he was watching the children, “Don’t lose heart, she will know your name soon enough.” 

Tim smiled in his self-depreciating sort of way, and shrugged. “It’s okay if she doesn’t, it’s probably more important she learn yours and stuff.” 

“Nonsense, she is more than capable of learning everyone’s names. Let’s just be patient with her. We have all had a long day already, and it is only just beginning.”

“Yeah,” Tim sighed, “We’re really not going to school today?”

“No, sir,” Alfred said, smiling when Cassandra looked up at him curiously as he continued speaking, “I have already called the office, you are all excused.”

Alfred started collecting up the dishes from breakfast, placing them all on a tray to bring back into the kitchen. “May I have your spoon,” he asked, once he’d set the tray down next to Cassandra and picked up her plate. 

She looked up at him, and cocked her head after a second, looking at him curiously. So Alfred pointed at her spoon, and then at the tray. With a smile, Cassandra set the spoon down on top of the plates. Her whole body seeming to absolutely beam at the action. Truly, a sweet, precious child. 

“Thank you, dear,” Alfred said, patting her hair once before he picked up the tray, “Now, let me deposit this in the kitchen, I will be right back.” 

Alfred had expected Tim to move on elsewhere, during the few seconds he was in the kitchen. Tim was like that, disappearing into the wind whenever all attention turned away from him. Alfred never blamed him. The boy was used to quiet and stillness, and Wayne Manor could be the exact opposite of that, at times. 

But when Alfred stepped back into the dinning room, Tim was still sitting there, fidgeting in his chair as he looked around the room.

Perhaps the poor lad was more shaken than he’d initially appeared by the entire ordeal of the night. 

Even now knowing he’d been aware of Bruce’s nightly habit this entire time, it was still a terrifying experience. To have people break into the house where you’re sleeping, and attempt to kidnap one of the other children from the very bed they rested in. 

Alfred could not blame him for being clingy. Any ten-year-old would be, _deserved_ to be, after such a night.

“Now then,” he said, clasping his hands together, “why don’t we help Miss Cassandra get her room settled.”

Tim straightened, and nodded eagerly as he hopped up. Cassandra hesitated, a moment, then stood and followed when Alfred motioned with his head for them to leave the room. 

“I bet you’re gonna love it here,” Tim said, walking alongside Cassandra as Alfred led them toward the laundry room on the first floor, “Bruce and Alfred and everyone are super nice.”

Cassandra, of course, did not respond, but she continued following along, giving Tim her attention as he kept babbling at her about the rooms they were passing, and the things they did in the rooms. 

“We have movie nights in there all the time,” he was saying about one of the dens, just as they reached the laundry room, “Damian really likes having movie nights.” 

“Could you help carry the pillows,” Alfred asked, pulling the two freshly washed pillows out of the dryer. The pillows in Miss Cassandra’s room were likely fresh enough, but he wanted to ensure she had the best things available, to make her transition into the house as comfortable as possible. The warm, cleanness of freshly laundered bedding was always inviting at hotels, he only hoped the same concept would apply in the manor. 

However, if Master Bruce were correct, and she had been sleeping in the rafters of a drafty warehouse… it was very possible she would be comfortable regardless. 

“Sure,” Tim said, jumping at the opportunity to help. He took both pillows, then looked at Cassandra, who was just staring at what he was holding.

“Did you want to carry one?” he asked, offering her one of the pillows. 

She reached out and squeezed the edge of the pillow, as if testing what it was made of. She took it from him and wrapped her arms around it in the same way Tim had done, so he could carry both pillows. 

“Shall we go to your room,” Alfred said, picking up the basket that contained the clean blankets and towels he’d washed, already. 

Upstairs, Tim and Cassandra trailed along behind him again, but this time Tim did not explain to Cassandra what each of the rooms were.

Instead, he said, “I can switch rooms if it’ll be easier on you.” 

“Is there something wrong with your room?” Alfred asked, as they passed by Master Bruce’s bedroom. There were seven bedrooms on this floor, with Master Tim’s being the first on the left, beyond Master Bruce’s suite, and the three boys all having consecutive rooms on the right. Dick and Damian both had rooms directly across from Bruce’s, and Jason’s was across from Tim’s. 

As such, they had chosen the final room on the right for Miss Cassandra, right beyond Jason’s. 

“No,” Tim stammered, as they entered Cassandra’s room.

Alfred set the basket down on the dresser, and turned to see Timothy’s face flush, slightly. 

“I just meant,” he continued, “you could put her closer to the rest of the family and move me. That’s it. Instead of having to move her in a couple weeks, or whatever.” 

“You were there first, young sir,” Alfred said. 

“Yeah, but—“ Tim started, but Alfred was not going to hear any arguments from him. 

Especially not when his arguments usually included phrases like “but you don’t have to do that for _me,”_ as if _he_ were less important than anyone else. 

“Master Tim, it is very kind of you to offer, but as long as you are in this house, we will treat you as a member of this family. And that means that bedroom is _yours.”_

He had not considered moving her, once Master Tim left. His full intention had been to leave that room available, should Master Tim ever need to use it again. After spending a month with the family, he found it difficult to see a future where Timothy Drake did not spend time with them ever again. 

It was not like they were hurting for spare rooms, after all. 

And besides, Alfred would not be surprised if Tim was back in their house within the month… because he highly doubted Bruce would ever allow Tim to be left alone again, and he had little faith the Drakes would hire the appropriate help.

Not after seeming so… unconcerned about Tim’s wellbeing. 

Tim grimaced, slightly, but finally nodded, so Alfred figured that was that. Convincing Timothy of things was exceedingly difficult, but at least he often acquiesced and rarely required fighting. 

“Now, then, let’s see what we can do in here.” 

First off, he put Cassandra’s fresh towels away in the bathroom’s linen closet and took note of just how bland everything was. 

The room was meant as a guest room, and most certainly did not look the part of a child’s room. 

“What sorts of things should we acquire for your room, young lady?” Alfred mused aloud as he looked around the bedroom. He wished he had some idea of what her tastes would be. “Master Bruce does not wish to bring you out into public quite yet, so I cannot simply bring you to a decor store to pick out designs.” 

Cassandra, of course, did not answer. Instead, she continued to wander around the room as she inspected the various things she found. Finally, she sat down in one of the armchairs near the window and curled up. 

Alfred smiled at how at ease she was finally starting to look, and said, “It would help if only I had the slightest clue of what you like.” 

“You could always let her pick her favorite colors by letting her choose her clothes everyday,” Tim said, from where he’d sat down on the bed and started putting the pillows in the pillowcases, “She’ll probably pick her favorite colors to wear if there are lots of options, right?” 

“That is an excellent idea,” Alfred said. He’d pulled some clothes from the boys’ closets he thought would fit her, but had yet to buy anything meant for her. He wasn’t sure what kind of clothing she liked, so he hadn’t jumped on purchasing anything. 

After years and years of buying for boys, he was at a complete loss of what to purchase a little girl. 

But he could most certainly purchase her a large assortment of things, in all different colors and styles, and let her lead from there. 

With that decided, Alfred went back to the basket and pulled out the blankets he’d washed. The smaller one was merely a throw, and he’d meant it to be something she could curl up in, while sitting at the windows, so he carried to over to the armchair. 

Cassandra sat up as he approached, but only watched curiously as he draped it across the back of the chair she was sitting on. 

Cautiously, she reached up and ran a hand across the woven fabric, then smiled. 

“I am glad you like it, dear girl. This blanket is yours now.” 

“Bay-get,” she said, petting the blanket again. 

“That is right, it is yours now. I have another for you, too.” He went back to the basket, and pulled the large fleece blanket, meant for layering on a bed. He un folded it so he could drape it across the foot of the bed, near where Tim was sitting in the middle, still fussing with the pillows. 

He had to move another blanket, which had been balled up and sat on the edge of the bed, and when he went to touch he, he nearly recoiled in disgust. 

It was _filthy._

“Goodness,” he said, as he picked it up and started to move it to his now empty basket, “This one will need to be washed.”

He almost wanted to wash the blanket it’d been sat on, it was so disgusting. But he would bring a handvac up later, and give it a good once over, instead. 

As he moved the blanket, Cassandra sat bolted up, seemingly in alarm, and watched Alfred with a critical eye from where she was now standing, across the room.

So Alfred paused. “Do not worry,” he tried. He wasn’t quite sure how concerned he need be.

He refused to be afraid of a child placed in his care, and showing her fear would likely damage any hope of a relationship between them. But he could not help but be… wary. 

Because as much as they all already loved the sweet little girl, Master Jason was correct, in some respect. They did need to be cautious, and careful. None of them knew exactly how she would react to things. All children have tantrums, and a child as highly trained as Cassandra was capable of having very _damaging_ tantrums. 

“We must wash it, Cassandra,” he said, as he slowly took the last couple steps to the basket. He placed the blanket inside, and added, “It will be returned once it is clean.” 

Tim hopped up and grabbed the clean blanket from Cassandra’s bed, then crossed the room to her, apparently completely unfazed by Cassandra’s alarm.

“Clean,” he said, once he was within reach, able to offer her the new blanket, “This one is clean, feel it.” 

Cassandra’s eyes flitted to Tim, as if she weren’t quite willing to let Alfred and her blanket out of sight, then she finally turned her full attention to him.

“Alfred’s going to clean your blanket, like this one.” 

Tentatively, Cassandra reached out and felt the blanket, at Tim’s continued prompting, but it was clear she still did not understand.

“Maybe you can show her the washer and stuff?” Tim asked, “I don’t know if it will help. Oh, wait!” 

Quickly, he grabbed Cassandra’s wrist, clearly startling the little girl as she allowed herself to be pulled across the room, over to where her dirty blanket was. 

“Dirty,” Tim said, making a disgusted face as he felt Cassandra’s blanket. He motioned for her to touch it, then repeated the word several more times, making it clear on his face that he was disgusted by it. Then, he pet at the clean blanket, and said, “clean,” with a smile. 

It was a bloody brilliant tactic, if Alfred said so himself. 

Tim went back and forth between the two blankets, letting Cassandra feel the difference between them. Finally, he pointed at Alfred and said, “Alfred, clean, blanket.” 

“Yes, love,” Alfred said, “I will clean your blanket.” 

Cassandra looked at him appraisingly, and Alfred could not tell whether she understand what they were trying to teach her. 

“I bet if you showed her the washer and stuff, she’d get it,” Tim said, “Like, show her after you put it in and then get it out later, it’s all clean.” 

“Excellent idea,” Alfred said, as he picked up the basket, “Come, now, let’s go clean Cassandra’s blanket.” 

It took Cassandra a second, during which time she looked at Alfred a little frantically, before she followed along, with Tim right by her side. 

What would he have done without Tim Drake? 

Back down in the laundry room, Tim made a show about helping Alfred move the laundry from the washer over to the dyer. He kept repeating ‘clean’ at Cassandra, and prompted her to help him place all the wet clothes into the dryer. 

Finally, once the dryer was running, and the washer open, Tim helped Cassandra put her blanket into the washer herself, although she seemed reluctant to do so.

“Bay-get,” she said, a little wobbly as Alfred closed the lid over it, the detergent already preloaded. 

“Yes, dear,” Alfred said as he set the wash cycle, “We are going to clean it.” 

“Clean,” Tim said. 

Tim was likely on the right path, Alfred thought. He needed to work on keeping his language simple with Cassandra. 

“Yes,” he agreed, “Clean, later.” 

He did look forward to having a speech pathologist hired, and perhaps some sort of developmental pediatrician to consult with about Cassandra, however. 

Having a clear path forward was one Alfred felt they desperately needed. 

Cassandra finally let her shoulders drop, as she stood up on tip toes to look down into the washer, through the glass top and watch the blanket spin around. 

Tim grinned widely when she did, so Alfred said, “You are quite good with her.” 

With a shrug, Tim said, “I’m just trying to help.” 

“Well, my boy, you are doing just that.” With that, Alfred turned and opened one of the cabinets, retrieving a deck of cards he kept squirreled away. If his suspicions were correct, Cassandra would be difficult to tear away from the washer, as her precious blanket went through the hour-long process of being washed a dried, and Alfred was in no hurry to move her along. 

It would be good for the girl, to understand exactly what happened when things went into the washer, anyway. 

He held the cards up for Tim to see and asked, “Would you like to play a game with me?

Tim’s face lit up as he asked, “What game?”

“Do you know gin rummy?” Alfred pulled the stools out from under part of the table, where they were kept out of the way, and sat down, pulling the cards out to be shuffled. 

“No, can you teach me?” 

“Of course, my boy.” Alfred would find nothing more enjoyable than spending an hour teaching the boy a game. He just knew Tim would be a worthy opponent in no time, with how quickly he picked up new things. 

And, perhaps, the quiet morning was what they all needed. Even if they spent it in the laundry room, listening to the washer and dryer run. Cassandra was relaxing more by the minute, and with Tim there to help, Alfred had no doubt she’d meld right into the family in no time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who brainstormed with me in the discord. :D It was pretty fun to write it and get real time input, and y'alls ideas were awesome. 
> 
> And thanks everyone for reading. <3 you guys.


	26. Damian

Damian spent the morning playing games with Dick, and overall just trying to forget that ninjas had broke into his room in the middle of the night and tried to kidnap him, shot Ace, and tried to shoot Jason. 

Forgetting was hard, though. Especially when, after lunch, Alfred made all the kids take _naps._ Since they all had been up too long. 

Which was stupid. Dad quit making Damian take a nap when he started second grade, which was way over a year ago. _When he was six._

Now he was eight-years-old, in third grade, and definitely too old for naps. 

But Alfred didn’t buy the argument, and made him to lie down anyway. The only thing that kept him putting up too much of a fuss was the fact Jason had to take one too. And Cassandra and Tim. 

Alfred hadn’t specified he had to take a nap _in his room,_ though. So Damian had picked his favorite couch in one of the dens and lay down with Cow and Figaro. Ace had even followed him into the room, and curled up on the ground next to him. But he was still tired from the tranq dart, and was out like a light basically as soon as he lay down. 

But that’s how Damian had been lying for an hour, a cozy blanket wrapped around him, the room dark, except one lamp back in the corner. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get to sleep. _Figaro_ was even sleeping, on his chest where she’d curled up under his hands. 

It wasn’t fair. 

_He_ wanted to sleep, too, if only to get the ‘nap time’ over with faster. It was _really boring_ otherwise. 

Really boring, that was, until Selina slipped into the room sometime during hour two.

“Hey kitten,” she said, softly, when he looked up at her. 

“Hi, Selina,” he said, as he watched her cross the room and carefully step around Ace, to sit down at the end of the couch, by his feet. He instinctively curled his feet a littler closer to himself, so she couldn’t grab them and tickle them. Or put her cold hands on them to annoy him.

She did that way too much.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked after a second, “The TV isn’t even on.”

Damian put on a pout and grumbled, “Alfred’s making us all take naps. He said we had to lay down and be quiet for two whole hours with no TV.”

“Sounds dreadful,” Selina said, in exaggerated horror. 

Figaro stirred at her voice, so Damian started running his hand back through her fur. She snuggled back down and started purring, so he said, “It’s not too bad.” If Figaro and Ace hadn’t been there, it _would_ have been dreadful. 

“So why aren’t you taking a nap in your room?” she asked, “Your dad and Jason fixed it up this morning.” 

“I’m not sleeping in there,” Damian said, scowling hard. No way could they make him, either. 

“Why not?” 

Damian just gave her an unimpressed look. 

“Bruce is beefing up the security system as we speak. He’s deep in the code, working on… whatever it is he’s got to do to fix it. He didn’t actually explain it to me.” 

“I thought you knew how to work security systems,” Damian said. Figaro mewed loudly at him, and jumped off him, over to Selina. 

Selina was a thief in more ways than one, taking his cat away from him too. 

She smiled and scratched at Figaro’s chin as she said, “I can disarm them quite well, yes. Not yours, though, it’s a little high tech for me.” 

Damian sat up some, so his back was leaning up against his pillow, and crossed his arms. “Did Dad send you in here to make me sleep in my room?” he asked. He would _not_ move to his room. No way.

“No,” she said, “I was bored and found you myself. Bruce is too busy and all the other kids are asleep. Even Cassandra.” 

He didn’t get at all how all the other kids could sleep. Or how Alfred even made _Cassandra_ sleep. 

“How’d Alfred make Cassandra sleep?” he asked, “She doesn’t listen.” 

Although he supposed it wasn’t quite _doesn’t listen,_ was more more like _can’t listen._ He still wasn’t sure what to think about Cassandra. She seemed nice enough, he supposed. But it was hard to know someone who couldn’t talk. 

Selina shrugged and said, “From the looks of it, he just wrapped her up in her blanket and laid her down.” 

Had Selina gone and checked on her? He wasn’t sure how he felt about _that,_ either. How Selina seemed to want to adopt Cassandra, too. Along with Dad. 

_Maybe_ she could adopt her _instead_ of Dad. Then Jason wouldn’t be upset about it and they wouldn’t have to add another kid to the family, but Cassandra still got a safe house and a new family. 

Damian tugged at his blanket until he found the edge and started picking at the hem. He knew it was stupid to not want Cassandra. Obviously he’d like Cassandra eventually. He liked Jason eventually, after all. And Dick liked _him_ eventually. He’d just have to get used to her. 

Jason would have to get used to her, too. He hadn’t got a new sibling yet, so he didn’t know how to do it. That’s all it was. 

“What’s going on inside that noggin of yours,” Selina asked, after Damian had been silent for a couple minutes, absently petting his stuffed cow. 

“Nothing,” he mumbled, pulling the blanket back up to cover him. Selina would just say something like ‘give her a chance,’ if he said anything, so he wasn’t going to bother. He knew Cassandra needed a safe place to live. He wasn’t going to be mad about it. 

Plus, as long as _she_ didn’t attack them, he didn’t see the problem anyway. 

Their _real_ problem was whoever actually attacked them the night before.

“Do you know who that was last night? That broke in?” he asked, sitting up straighter and letting the blanket fall back down. He was fairly certain Selina _did_ know _,_ because he was pretty sure Dad knew, and Dad told Selina that kind of stuff. 

Selina seemed to consider the question for a moment, her fingers combing through Figaro’s fur from her head down to her tail as she did. “The League of Assassins,” she said. 

That was what Jason had said, but Damian didn’t know who they were. Or why they’d even be there.

Although if _Cassandra_ was one of their kids, he kind of got that. 

“The place Cassandra is from?” he asked, just for confirmation. 

“Yes,” Selina said matter-of-factly, “same group.”

“But why did they try to take me?” he whined, “Wouldn’t they want Cassandra?” Cassandra hadn’t even been there yet when they broke in. So either it didn’t make sense, or the League of Assassins were stupid. 

“Talia,” Selina started slowly, like she thought she had to tread carefully. Damian perked up at the tone, and made sure to listen intently. “Talia gave Cassandra to us. To Bruce. So I don’t think so.” 

But that didn’t make sense…

“I think,” Selina continued, staring off toward the wall, instead of at Damian, “I think Cassandra was sent to distract Bruce, so he wouldn’t be home to protect you.” 

“They forgot about Superman,” Damian pointed out. Sure, _he_ forgot about Superman, when he was scared and trying not to cry because Ace had been shot, and panicking because they had knocked Jason over and were kidnapping him, but _Jason_ hadn’t forgotten. 

With a smile, Selina said, “Yeah. They forgot about Superman.” 

“Why did they try to take me, though?” he asked. That _still_ did not make sense. He’d maybe get it if they were taking him because Dad had taken Cassandra, but Selina _said_ the Talia lady gave Cassandra to them. 

Selina looked away again, with a frown.

“Selina?” he asked, and Damian couldn’t help but think _she knows_ when she didn’t even look back _._ Selina was keeping it a _secret_ from him.

And that wasn’t fair!

Didn’t he _deserve_ to know why someone wanted to kidnap him???

“I know you know,” he said, a hint of accusation in his voice, “Just tell me.”

Selina held Figaro a little closer and grimace, as she said, “I don’t know if…” 

But Damian didn’t care what she didn’t know. He wanted to know _who tried to kidnap him._

“Tell me,” he demanded, “They tried to kidnap me, I should know!” 

With a sigh, Selina shifted and pulled a leg up on the couch, so she was facing Damian more. “Your dad might kill me,” she started, as if that was an actual legitimate reason not to tell Damian something.

“No he wouldn’t,” Damian said immediately, “You _know_ he wouldn’t.” For one, she was _Selina._ Dad loved Selina and wouldn’t do something stupid like that. And two, he was _Batman,_ and _Batman_ was against killing people in all instances ever. 

Why was Dad even trying to keep it a secret from Damian, though? That wasn’t _fair._

Selina stared at him for a long moment, as she seemed to contemplate whatever it was. Finally, though, she nodded and asked, “Do you know who your mother is?”

And…

And Damian didn’t know how to respond to that. 

Did… did it matter? 

He shook his head, slowly, because no. He actually didn’t. He’d asked a lot when he was littler. But Dad never had a good answer for him, and every time Damian asked, he could see how sad it made Dad to think about it, so he’d stopped asking. 

Dick and Alfred and Selina all knew who she was, he _knew,_ because they always looked at him all nervous when he started asking. Well, Dick looked all nervous about it. Alfred never looked nervous, but if Dick knew, there was no way Alfred didn’t know, too. 

Only Selina had ever told him anything. She’d described his mother, told him she was beautiful and loved him very much, so much that she’d left him with Dad to raise in Gotham, because she lived somewhere too dangerous for children. 

Did… did that mean she lived at the League of Assassins? Why would Dad fall in love with and make a baby with an assassin? That didn’t make any sense. 

“Her name is Talia al Ghul,” Selina said, and Damian already recognized the name.

“The one who gave us Cassandra?” 

Selina smiled, and nodded a little as she said, “Yeah. I don’t think she approved of how Cassandra’s father was treating her.” 

Wait. “Is Cassandra her daughter, too?” Did Damian have a sister?

Like… a blood sister? Cassandra was probably going to be his adopted sister soon, regardless. He’d never considered he could have siblings he didn’t know about, just because he didn’t know his mom.

But Selina shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think so. She wouldn’t have _allowed_ Cassandra’s father to treat her that way, if so. She’s not one to stand by like that.” 

“Oh,” he said, looking down at his lap, where his blanked was bunched up. He started picking at the folds, and asked, “So… Talia… my mom, she sent the ninjas to take me?”

“Yes,” Selina said, smiling a little sadly at him. 

“But Why?” 

“She decided she wanted to raise you herself.”

Now that he was eight? That didn’t make sense. Unless Selina lied when she said Talia gave him to Dad to raise. 

“By kidnapping me?” he asked, “But kidnapping is illegal.”

Selina smiled, a little, and said, “Sweetie, she’s the daughter of the leader of the League of Assassins. They aren’t big on following laws.”

Right. League of Assassins.

His mother. Was from the League of Assassins. 

“She’s a bad guy,” he said slowly. 

He— did he even want to meet her? Ever?

Not if she kept trying to kidnap him, obviously. He didn’t want to get kidnapped. He wanted to stay with Dad. 

But, before she’d tried to kidnap him…. maybe?

Yes. 

But then he hadn’t known she was a bad guy. 

How could his mom be a bad guy?

“That’s…” Selina said, trailing off for a moment while she bounced her head back and forth, “That’s oversimplifying it.” 

What was _oversimplifying_ about it?? His mother was from _the League of Assassins._

How did _good guys_ come from some place like that!? 

“The world’s not as black and white as it seems when you’re eight,” Selina said, and Damian just scowled. 

He was not going to accept ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ as an answer. That was a dumb answer. 

His mom had tried to kidnap him and made Superman send him up to the _Watchtower_ just to prevent it from happening. What was _good_ about that?

_The Watchtower._

Where… he was pretty sure he’d been before. When he was little and scared…

Was that for the same reason? He couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d go up there. Dad always _said_ he could find time to bring them up there, but then he never _did._ Because there were always people up there that didn’t know who Batman was, and Dad didn’t want them to know Batman had kids because he didn’t want that information getting out. 

Damian _got it,_ but it was always disappointing when it meant he didn’t get to up to the Watchtower. 

But when Jason had led them away from Dad’s room and toward the bay windows, so they could look down at Earth, they’d passed a room Damian was _almost positive_ he’d been in before. 

Back when he was little and scared and the fast red man had taken him from Dad and whooshed them to the bright room. The… conference room. On Watchtower. 

“Did she kidnap me before?” Damian asked. He didn’t remember much of that day. Just the red man…. _Flash,_ probably, taking him from Dad, and then giving him cow before Dad and Selina came back. 

“What makes you ask that?” Selina asked.

Which was _infuriating._ Why couldn’t she just give him real answers!

“Because I remember being on Watchtower before,” he snapped. Figaro shifted in Selina’s arm, and looked over at Damian, as if telling him to be quiet because she was sleeping.

Maybe had she not been a traitor and gone to Selina, he would have been careful to stay quiet and still for her. 

“You do?” Selina asked.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Talia did take you, once, when you were almost two. We thought you didn’t remember.” 

“I didn’t,” Damian admitted. He didn’t remember the _kidnapping_ part. Not by anyone other than Flash, that was. “I just remembered the fast red guy taking me away from Dad and bringing me to the bright room. Then you and Dad came and got me.”

“Flash?” she asked. 

“Yeah. I saw that room last night, so now I know it was on Watchtower.” 

Selina nodded, as she kept petting at Figaro, coaxing the kitty back to sleep. “She took you,” she finally said, “but we took you back.” 

Damian nodded, and pulled his knees to his chest. If his mom had kidnapped him before, why did Selina lie to him about it? “You said she gave me to Dad,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around his knees. 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about being the son of a bad guy. 

He didn’t want to be the son of a bad guy. 

And if she just kept kidnapping him from Dad, and then… Dad kidnapped him back…

Had Dad kidnapped him first? Was Dad a kidnapper, too?

“She did, honey,” Selina said, reaching across the couch to place a hand on his knee, “she did. She kidnapped you, then gave you back once we got there because she knew you’d be safer with us. She didn’t make it hard for us to get you back, and she told us to take you home.” 

“Oh,” he whispered. Then why would she try to take him back now? If she thought he was safer with Dad? Why was it different _now?_

So far, the only danger he’d faced was because _Talia_ sent men to kidnap him. 

Cassandra, though. Cassandra had grown up in the League of Assassins, and she probably faced a lot more danger. Especially since she got trained to be an assassin and her dad sent her out on missions. To attack people. Like Batman. _All by herself._

That was very super dangerous. 

“So if my mom raised me,” he said slowly, “I’d be like Cassandra.” 

“No,” Selina said quickly, as her hand squeezed his knee, “No, you wouldn’t have been as mistreated as her. I have no doubt that your mother loves you, Damian. She wouldn’t have kept language from you, like her.” 

“But I’d be an assassin,” he said. He hadn’t considered the no language part. The assassin part was bad enough. 

“That’s…” Selina started, as she let go of him and seemed to get lost in her thoughts. Finally, she said, “That’s possible, I suppose.” 

Which meant his mom _was_ a bad guy and he was _half_ bad guy and would have been a bad guy if he grew up with her.

“I don’t want to be a bad guy,” he said, as his eyes started filling with tears. He didn’t want to _cry,_ either, but _his mom was a bad guy._

“Oh honey, no, no, don’t cry,” Selina said, startled. She dropped Figaro onto the floor, then scooted over closer to him and wrapped him up in her arms, “Dami, that’s not how it works. Not one bit. You are a good kid because that’s who _you_ are, and it has nothing to do with either Talia or Bruce." 

“But if Mom raised me I’d be a bad kid,” he cried, into her shoulder where he’d pressed his face, trying to make the tears stop. 

“No, you’d still be Damian,” she said, hugging him fiercely, “and Damian is a great kid no matter who raised him.” 

That didn’t make sense. Didn’t it _matter_ how someone was raised?

And what if his mom _did_ kidnap him for real, and finished raising him?

“I don’t want to be a bad adult, either,” he said. 

“Why would you grow up to be a bad adult?” Dad asked, from where he’d apparently stepped inside the room while he was crying. 

Damian just pressed his face into Selina’s shirt harder. 

“Damian?” Dad asked, as he stepped forward and put a hand on top of Damian’s head. 

“Because,” he cried, “My mom is a bad guy.”

Dad sighed, and massaged his scalp a little while he said, “Selina,” long sufferingly. 

“I didn’t,” she shot back, “I _said_ she wasn’t, that it’s not that simple.” 

“I’m half bad guy,” Damian said, ignoring Selina. He didn’t see how it could be _not that simple._ Talia was in the League of Assassins. 

“Damian,” Dad sighed. He rounded the couch, and motioned with a hand for Selina to scoot over a little, dragging Damian with her, so Dad could sit on his other side, right on top of his pillow.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Damian asked, scowling hard as he pushed away from Selina and wiped his eyes clean. Dad should have _told him._

Dad slung an arm back behind him and said, “For one, because you are _not_ half ‘bad guy,’ and I didn’t want you thinking things like that. You are 100% Damian Wayne, and Damian Wayne isn’t even one ounce ‘bad guy.’” 

Damian sniffled, and leaned up against Dad as he said, “But my mom is a super villain.” 

“No, she’s not. She might often find herself on the wrong side of a fight, but that does not make her a super villain.”

“But she runs the League of Assassins.” Isn’t that was Selina had said? 

“No,” Dad said again, “her father does. I’m Batman, does that make _you_ Batman?” 

With a shake of his head, Damian admitted, “No.” Because it didn’t. Dick was a vigilante like Dad, but he wasn’t _Batman,_ too. He was Nightwing. If Damian ever became a vigilante, he probably wouldn’t be Batman, either. Not for a very long time, at least, when Dad finished being Batman and needed someone to take his place. 

“No,” Dad agreed, “because I’m not you and you’re not me. We’re different people.” 

“I want to be like you,” Damian whispered, as he buried his face into Dad’s shirt. He wanted to be like him, and not like his mom. 

“Hm,” Dad hummed, wrapping his arm around Damian more tightly, “I hope you don’t turn out like me. I hope you turn out way better than me. I hope you turn out like _you.”_

“But my mom is still a villain.” 

Dad just sighed, and ran his hand up and down Damian’s back for a moment. “And she doesn’t have visitation rights,” he finally said, “if you want to meet her when you’re older, that’s fine, but for right now I want you to stay here with me.” 

“I want to stay with you,” Damian mumbled into Dad’s shirt. He didn’t want to meet his mom at all. 

At least, not yet. Not after she tried to kidnap him. 

Again. 

“Okay then,” Dad agreed. 

“But what if she gets me?” 

Dad continued rubbing Damian’s back, and didn’t miss a beat as he said, “I made it clear she cannot have you, and I’m beefing up our security to ensure her men don’t get through again. She won’t get you.” 

“But what if—“ Damian started, but Dad cut him off. 

“If, somehow, she magically gets you, I will come retrieve you.” 

“We all would, honey,” Selina said, still sitting next to him, her hand on his knee. 

“Like last time?” Damian asked. 

Dad paused, and leaned over a bit so he could see Damian’s face. “You remember last time?” All Damian did was nod, so Dad sighed, and said, “Yeah, like last time. But I promise it won’t even get that far, because she’s not getting you.” 

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding a little as he sat up. He hoped it was true, and Dad could keep it true. 

Because he _didn’t_ want to be an assassin. Or a bad guy. And he really didn’t want to leave Dad and Alfred and Dick and Jason and Selina and Ace and Figaro. If his mom got him, he’d miss all of them. 

“Okay,” Dad repeated, “Well, Alfred wants you to take a nap.” 

No way, he thought, shaking his head furiously, that was _not_ happening.

“I’m not sleeping and you can’t make me,” Damian snapped, crossing his arms and _glowering_ at Dad. 

No one was making him go back to his room. 

Dad sighed, loud and long as he stood up, before he said, “Well, _I’m_ going to take a nap. How about you come lie down with me, then. You don’t have to sleep, just be quiet so _I_ can sleep.” 

Damian hesitated, then. Because… he _was_ tired. He didn’t _want_ to sleep, but he knew he’d be able to sleep if Dad was right there… because Dad would wake up if someone broke in again. 

And, really, no one would try to break in with _Batman_ right there. That would be stupid. Who’d try to kidnap _Batman’s_ kid right out from under him? No one. 

Stupid people.

Stupid people who would fail. 

“Fine,” he finally mumbled, standing up to follow Dad. Selina stood, too, and pat at his head as she, too, went with them up to Dad’s room. 

Sure, it was right across the hall from _his_ room, where he was never ever ever sleeping again, but lying between Dad and Selina, it was actually very easy to sleep. 

Because he knew for sure his villain mom wouldn’t be able to get him with them there. All he thought about as he drifted off to sleep was, he hoped she never got him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wrote this on Monday, but I missed the deadline to get it to my beta when she had time because she's very awesome and very busy, and then I didn't have time to revise it when she was able to proof it and here we are. Don't miss deadlines, folks! Haha (or do I am the last person on the planet able to say anything about that.) But THANK YOU KASY (brokenheartedqueen on ao3!). she's seriously the best, she helped me so much with this chapter. It's like 7392x better because of her. ❤️
> 
> Also, wanna hear a story? When I was less than 2, my mom thinks about 18-months-old, I got my finger stuck in a laundry hamper, and it swelled and my mom panicked and called 911 because she couldn't free me and was home alone and was scared to cut the laundry hamper away from my hand with no one there to hold me still. I don't remember the laundry hamper part, much, but I do remember a police officer coming into the house and asking if our dog was going to attack him. We didn't have a dog. I was confused how my mom summoned a police officer when she opened the front door, and didn't understand why he was talking about a dog, but he cut my finger free while my mom held me still. I remember the clippers he used, too. I'm using that clearly ~~highly traumatic~~ memory I have as basis for why Damian remembers only a couple details from his ACTUALLY highly traumatic experience when he was about 20-months-old.
> 
> Anyway~~~~~~ Happy thanksgiving, y'all!! Hope you have a lovely day. I plan on writing a chapter this weekend.


	27. Bruce

The next few days were quiet. 

A nice break, Bruce had to admit. Heaven knew they needed the quiet weekend to recover from the hectic night they’d all had.

Bruce and Selina took turns staying home with the kids, mostly just to give Damian a little more peace when it came to sleeping.

It’d been four days, and he’d yet to sleep in his own bed. The first night, he’d demanded Bruce stay home with him, and had slept in Bruce’s bed. Which was fine, for the first night. But Gotham needed Batman, and as much as Bruce _wanted_ to stay home with his son, he couldn’t. 

Damian understood, of course. He was a good kid like that, but it didn’t stop him from being scared. And when Jason threw a fit over Damian wanting to sleep in _his_ room, mostly because _Jason_ didn’t want to go to bed at Damian’s bed time, they’d decided to start trading off, making sure someone was home with him each night. Alfred, of course, was _always_ home with them while Bruce was out, but Bruce didn’t want him to be trapped every night, helping Damian feel safe enough to sleep. Alfred already did so much, and usually had work to do while the kids were in bed, anyway. 

There was no way it could last, obviously. Selina had a life, and had never been too fond of outright living at Wayne Manor, but Alfred assured them if they were patient about it, Damian would settle on his own. They just had to get past the initial stages of trauma. 

Bruce hoped he was right. 

Cassandra was an entirely different matter. 

She didn’t seem to understand anything going on, pretty much ever. Bruce had gone ahead and called up a developmental pediatrician, at Alfred’s insistence, to get some guidance on what on earth to do with her. 

He still needed to get all her paperwork submitted, and make her stay with them legal. Doing so would give them fuller access to help and support for her, but in the meantime he was able to get some preliminary advice. 

Schedules and routine was the biggest thing stressed. If they could get her on a schedule, she would start learning what was expected of her each day, and hopefully settle into the family better. It would be easier on her if everything was routine, instead of the entire day being a guessing game.

Which made sense to Bruce, but it didn’t help much with the massive communication barrier they faced. She’d learned a good dozen words, since that very first time she uttered “Batman,” but she still rarely uttered them. Not unless prompted to do so, first. 

And by Tuesday, Jason had grown impatient. He wanted to start his training, and he wanted to start his training _now._ Or so he’d said. About fifty million times. 

So finally, after school on Tuesday, Bruce took Jason down into the cave to start his endurance training. And if he decided he was going to work Jason a little hard, just over the whining at him, well… it wasn’t like anyone was there to call him on it. 

Except Cassandra. Because when Bruce opened the clock to head downstairs, she seemed to materialize in the study and eagerly followed Bruce down to the cave, as well. 

Bruce had no idea what to do about it. “Cassandra, stay with Alfred,” he’d tried, but even though he _knew_ she knew who “Alfred” was, she still didn’t understand pretty much anything else said to her. Telling her to do things was near impossible. 

“What happened to you have to be thirteen for regular cave access,” Jason grumbled, when Bruce didn’t try any further to keep Cassandra in the house, and just continued on downstairs. 

He usually gave in and let Cassandra into the cave, anyway. It was hard enough keeping her in the _cave_ each night, when the rest of them went out, he didn’t feel like fighting _that_ battle, too. 

“We’ll work on rules and boundaries as we can,” Bruce said, for what felt like the fifteenth time. If Cassandra didn’t _understand_ a rule, there was no way to enforce it. And Bruce was honestly just happy she was _there._

“We didn’t put many rules on you, in the beginning,” he reminded, once they’d reached the ground floor, “these things take time.” 

“Yeah, what a scam,” Jason said, a slight scowl on his face. But Bruce could see the amusement hidden right underneath. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, smiling slightly as he clapped his hands together, “first things first, we have to warm up.” 

Jason nodded eagerly, while Cassandra followed them over to the mats, then gracefully started following Bruce’s lead. 

Bruce didn’t hold back. He started with a basic warm up routine, then had Jason run a few laps around the cave until he’d run a full mile. After that, they launched into calisthenics. Bruce worked him _hard,_ until he was dripping in sweat. The entire time, Cassandra followed along dutifully, and didn’t seem at all fazed by the whole thing.

Her stamina was incredible. 

Jason’s, on the other hand… it was great for a thirteen-year-old boy, but it certainly needed improvement, if he wanted to do the same training Dick had for Robin. 

After a full hour of ‘warm ups’ and then stretching, Jason was clearly exhausted. But Bruce still jumped to his feet and said, “All right. Let’s get started.”

“You’re evil,” Jason moaned, as he threw himself backward on the mats, laying out dramatically. 

With a slight smirk, Bruce held a hand down to him. Jason eyed it for a second, then reluctantly took it and let Bruce pull him to his feet. 

“You said you wanted real training,” he said, once Jason was standing, “This is real training. It will take time to build your stamina up to where it needs to be. In the mean time, we’ll keep the training simple until you’re ready for more.” 

“Evil,” Jason grumbled again, but he didn’t protest further.

“Get into a ready stance,” Bruce said, motioning for Jason to stand right in front of him. 

Jason did, albeit slowly and with some attitude. Cassandra watched with interest, then bounced to her feet, as well, from where she’d still been stretching and got into a ready stance right next to Jason.

“Okay,” Bruce said, placing a hand on his chin as he tried to think. He wasn’t quite sure how to give both the kids attention. It was rare he had two kids at once in training sessions, and he really wasn’t sure how to handle it. Jason, on the one hand, was really the one he was down there to train, but he felt bad just ignoring Cassandra. 

He’d been trying his best to give her attention thus far, occasionally reaching out to correct her forms, just as he’d been doing with Jason. Or just simply to pat her shoulder to let her know she was doing good. 

Now, though. Now he really had to give Jason his attention, if he wanted Jason to get _anything_ from it. 

Maybe… maybe he could start with Jason, then have Cassandra repeat whatever Jason did. If she wanted. And just hope she understood she wasn’t being ignored. 

“Cassandra,” he said, motioning for her to step a few steps further away from Jason, “how about you watch, first. Then we’ll switch.” 

She likely didn’t understand, of course, but she _did_ seem to catch that she needed to step back away from Jason, because she did exactly that. Bruce really did not want her getting hit, on accident, while they went through some basic forms. 

“All right, let’s start with katas,” Bruce said motioning for Jason to get back down into his ready stance. The boy’s muscles had to be hurting, because he’d already stood back up in the brief moment Bruce had been distracted.

Jason nodded, and fell back down into a good, strong stance, and lifted his hands up in front of his body, into a good ready position. 

As soon as he did, however, Cassandra _leapt_ at him. 

Outright _leapt,_ from where she’d moved five feet away. 

As if they were sparring. 

“No,” Bruce yelled, as he _barely_ jumped forward in time to catch her before she could make contact with Jason. He wrapped both arms around her body, pinning her arms to her side and pulling her to his chest and turning, so when he landed on the ground, she was on top of him.

“What the _fuck,”_ Jason shouted, stumbling backward. Bruce was fairly certain Cassandra hadn’t touched him, yet, but he lost his balance, regardless, and landed rather hard on his bottom, letting out an ‘oof’ sound as he did. “ _What the fuck.”_

Bruce’s heart was hammering, but somehow it was _Cassandra’s_ that was racing harder, as she went completely still in his grasp. 

“ _No,_ Cassandra,” Bruce said, shifting a little so his hold was less restricting, without allowing her up yet. He wasn’t trying to scare her, but he couldn’t allow whatever had just almost happened to actually happen. “Do _not_ attack Jason.” 

“I _told_ you,” Jason cried, as he scrambled back to his feet, “she’s _feral.”_

 _“Jason,”_ Bruce snapped. He needed a second to think, _not_ Jason’s insults. 

Cassandra started regulating her own breathing, taking long, deep breaths. She wasn’t even trying to fight Bruce off herself, but had submitted to the hold. 

Bruce… Bruce needed to _think._

“She just tried to attack me!” Jason shouted, his shrill voice catching Cassandra’s attention enough she looked over at him, with wide eyes. 

She… she was _scared._ And Bruce wasn’t sure _why_ she’d tried to jump Jason, but maybe it was an accident? If she was trying to hurt the other kids, if that was her real mission, she’d had _plenty_ of opportunities to do that already. Right? 

Maybe not… had she been left alone with any of the kids yet, without an adult with them? Every time Cassandra was left alone, as far as Bruce could remember, it was _by herself._

“Bruce,” Jason said, now pacing as he ranted, Cassandra staring at him, “I know _I_ was feral when I got here, but she’s way way _way_ worse.” 

“You were not—“ Bruce started, but shook his head and said, “Neither of you are cats. Just give me a minute, you know I’d never let her hurt you.” 

Jason scowled, but did shut up enough for Bruce to focus. 

“Do _not_ attack Jason,” Bruce said again, calm but firmly into Cassandra’s ear. In reaction, all she did was go completely limp, submitting entirely to Bruce’s hold. 

It made Bruce’s stomach fall. 

What was she expecting of him? She clearly knew she’d done something they didn’t like, just based on how she’d stopped trying immediately, but what was she expecting Bruce to do in retaliation? 

Did she even understand _what_ she’d done wrong? 

“Okay, okay,” Bruce murmured, as he slowly loosened his hold and moved back to his knees, so Cassandra’s feet were on the ground again. He kept one hand around her wrist, but let go enough that she could get up. 

It took her a second, but she seemed to catch on that she was being allowed up and clambered to her feet, spinning around so she could look right at him, her eyes still wide. She looked down at her right wrist, still trapped in Bruce’s hold, then back up at Bruce with even _wider_ eyes. 

She looked so apprehensive and _confused,_ it just killed Bruce further.

He’d never wished _more_ he could communicate with her. 

“You still really think it’s a good idea to have an _assassin_ living with us?” Jason asked, from where he’d stopped pacing about ten feet away.

Cassandra’s eyes flitted over to Jason, then back at Bruce as her confusion slowly shifted to fear. 

And she’d just misunderstood, Bruce realized. That’s all that had happened, wasn’t it? She’d misunderstood what they were doing. Had she trained with other children in the past? Sparred them?

Bruce had spent time training under David Cain, and he’d had many spars with other people. Ruthless spars, where no punch was pulled. And Bruce had told Jason to get into ready position. 

She’d just misunderstood. 

As Cassandra stared at him with fear-filled eyes, his heart shattered a little more. 

_How could anyone put a child through League training?_

“Come here,” Bruce murmured, letting go of Cassandra’s wrist and holding his arm out to her. When she didn’t shy away, he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, hugging her tightly. “It’s okay, darling. We’re not going to be fighting each other in training. I will never ask you to hurt Jason, and I will never ask Jason to hurt you.” They might spar, but most certainly not until Cassandra could understand everything said to her, and they had the level of trust established necessary for sparring. 

He knew she didn’t understand him, but after a second, she melted into his hold. And not in the same way she had earlier, where she went limp. But in the same way Damian always did, when he was little and throwing a tantrum and giving up, just letting himself be held. Or the way Jason did, when he was trying to be too proud and ‘too old’ for a hug, but wanted one anyway. 

“Jason, come here,” he said, reaching his other arm out for Jason. Maybe he could show her both of them were important to him, and he wanted neither of them hurt.

But Jason scowled and crossed his arms. “I’m not hugging her.” 

“I won’t make you, but come here. We need to teach her that hurting each other isn’t allowed.”

“You’d think that was already obvious,” Jason muttered, but he did slink his way over to Bruce, sure to keep himself out of Cassandra’s reach. 

Cassandra straightened, a bit, and watched as Bruce wrapped an arm around Jason, too. 

“We have no idea what her life as been like up until now,” he said, squeezing them both, “so we need to be understanding and practice patience.” 

“As long as she doesn’t attack Damian or Tim,” Jason mumbled, pulling out of Bruce’s hug after another second. 

“I won’t let her hurt anyone,” Bruce assured him, running a hand up and down Cassandra’s arm before he let go of her, as well. “Right, sweetheart? You aren’t going to hurt anyone.” 

Cassandra, of course, didn’t respond, but she did make eye contact with Bruce, once she’d stood back up. 

And the fear had dissipated, to Bruce’s relief. She still looked confused, but she often looked confused. 

He wasn’t sure how to remedy that. 

Except, maybe… 

“Kind,” he said, running his hand down her arm, while she watched the action with attentive eyes. It had been Tim’s idea, really. To use very simple words and combinations of words, in hopes of teaching her meanings first, then grammar and syntax later. So far she’d got the hang of ‘eat,’ and while she hadn’t said ‘Cassandra eat’ herself, yet, she seemed to get when her name was put in front of the word, it meant _she_ got food, but if someone else’s name was in front if it, it meant _they_ got food. 

Maybe, if he could teach her what ‘kind’ meant, he’d be able to show her that _Cassandra_ had to be kind to people, and people would be kind to Cassandra. 

He reached up and gently brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, repeating the word “Kind” a few times. Then, once he hoped she got it, he said “Bruce, kind, Cassandra” and kept caressing her cheek. 

Cassandra watched with rapt attention, leaning into Bruce’s hand whenever he was touching her. It took prompting her several times, but finally she mimicked “eyemm,” which Bruce assumed was her version of _kind._

They’d certainly need a speech pathologist to teach her how to properly form all the sounds, but it was close enough for now. He’d take close enough. 

“Yes,” he said, smiling as he rubbed her arm again, and repeated, “Kind.” 

Finally, after a moment, Bruce gently took Cassandra’s hand in his own, and had her brush her hand against Bruce’s arm gently, while he said, “Cassandra, kind, Bruce.” 

“Eyemm,” she repeated, tugging her had away from Bruce, just gently enough to let Bruce know she wanted to be let go of, but not strong enough to actually free herself, even though Bruce was not holding onto her tightly enough that she couldn’t. 

But Bruce took the hint and let go, smiling at her as he did. “Yes, kind.” 

Cassandra looked back up at his face, briefly, before she reached out herself and pat at Bruce’s arm, repeating the word a few more times.

“Very good.” 

Jason chose that moment to scoff, from where he was standing just a couple feet away, now, his arms crossed. 

Cassandra looked up at him, but again, at least she didn’t look terrified anymore. 

“Jason,” Bruce asked, motioning for him to come closer, “Can she touch you, just on your arm?”

Predictably, Jason scowled at him, and took half a step backward. 

“I’m right here, lad,” he reminded. He wasn’t going to let anything happen, not even a scratch. 

“ _Fine,”_ Jason snapped, scowling even harder. But he did move over toward Bruce, and stood right in front of him, so he could have Cassandra ‘be kind’ to him, as well. 

So Bruce held his hand out to Cassandra, asking for her hand again. She obliged quickly, so Bruce walked her through the same thing, just on Jason’s arm. 

“Cassandra, kind, Jason.” 

“Eyemm,” she mumbled, as she pat Jason’s arm herself a couple times. She wasn’t looking up at him, however, just at where her hand was touching. After a few pats, she backed up, and started looking apprehensive again.

“Good,” Bruce said, not really sure what to do now, “Very good, Cassandra.” 

Jason shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then smirked. “You sure we’re not cats? Cause you just taught her to pet me.”

Bruce scowled, but before he could respond to _that_ little comment, Cassandra took a step backward, and her apprehension started turning into full on dread.

What was she dreading? Why was she scared?

“You’re not in trouble, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her back to him in a hug, “It’s okay.”

But it didn’t help. Cassandra relaxed in his arm, a little, but still looked like she wasn’t looking forward to _whatever_ she thought was about to happen.

Without knowing _what_ she was expecting, Bruce had no idea how to fix it. So he just squeezed her one last time, and let go. 

Maybe if they moved on with training, she’d calm back down. 

“Okay, Jason,” he said, as he rose to his feet, “let’s do katas.” 

Jason groaned, very loudly, but got back down into his ready position and started moving through the first kata he knew. Bruce had taught him half a dozen katas, already, while working through his self-defense. But if Jason wanted to become more proficient in martial arts, Bruce was going to make him learn _many_ more. 

The entire time Jason worked through his katas, Cassandra just watched. Before she had been copying Bruce and Jason’s movements, but now she was watching intently from where she stood, a good ten feet away. 

It was possible she didn’t know the katas, but Bruce kind of doubted that. She seemed more like she was patiently waiting for… something. 

Bruce didn’t know what. But she kept her eyes trained on Jason, occasionally flitting them over to Bruce, whenever he said anything to correct Jason’s forms, but she never kept her eyes off Jason long.

Jason didn’t seem to notice, thankfully. It was a little unnerving, and he knew Jason would be freaking out over it, if he hadn’t been so focused on getting his forms right. 

And Bruce made him walk through every kata he knew. Jason grumbled, every single time Bruce said, “Good, now the next one,” but did start in on his next kata, executing each one fairly accurately. Jason was tired, he knew, but his muscles weren’t shaking yet from exhaustion, so Bruce knew he could keep pushing. 

When Jason stepped closer to Cassandra, during one kata, Cassandra took an aborted step backward, and looked over at Bruce quickly with _terror_ in her eyes. 

Then it finally hit him, what she was expecting. 

He’d never told _Jason_ to be kind to _Cassandra._

Was she expecting Jason to hurt her? Expecting she was being forced to _let_ Jason hurt her?

And when she’d flinched away from Jason… 

Just when Bruce thought he couldn’t feel any worse. 

As Jason worked through his last three katas, Bruce paid closer attention to Cassandra. Every time Jason got near her, or got into any sort of ‘ready’ position, from which he could easily lunge at her, she seemed to ready herself. 

So that was exactly what it was. 

“Jason,” Bruce said, once Jason had gone through every single kata he knew, “come here.”

“Aren’t we done yet,” he whined, trudging over to Bruce and Cassandra, “You aren’t gonna make me learn a _new one_ tonight, are you?”

“No, lad,” he said, patting the back of Jason’s head once he got near, “I didn’t tell you to be kind to Cassandra.” 

“You don’t have to tell me to be kind to Cassandra,” he grumbled, but at least didn’t look too put out by it all. Hopefully whatever Cassandra was seeing in his body language wasn’t threatening. He had no idea _what,_ exactly, she picked up on. 

Did she know he was angry with her? And wary of her? 

“I know,” he said gently, “but she doesn’t know you know. Look how scared she is.” 

“Oh,” Jason said, when he finally looked straight at Cassandra, “I wasn’t gonna hurt you.” 

Bruce knelt down on the ground and said, “Cassandra,” toward her. When she looked at him, he held an arm out for her, so she came to him immediately. Once she was standing by his side, waiting dutifully, Bruce held his hand out to Jason. 

A little more hesitantly than Cassandra, Jason placed his hand in Bruce’s, and let Bruce walk him through ‘petting’ Cassandra while he said, “Jason, kind, Cassandra. Just like Cassandra, kind, Jason.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, “Kind, Cassandra.” He pat her on the arm, himself, once Bruce let go. When Cassandra didn’t react any further, other than to stare at Jason, like she was deep in thought, Jason asked, “Are we done? Can I go?”

Bruce sighed, but said, “Sure. But first thing in the morning, before school, I want you to do a kata. I want you to start doing that _every_ morning.”

“Okay, _fine,”_ Jason grumbled, then pushed past him and Cassandra toward the stairs as he said, “ _Bye.”_

Cassandra turned her attention to Bruce, and smiled a little shyly when Bruce offered her one first.

But as soon as Jason started ascending the stairs, he groaned and shouted, “Bruce, we need an elevator.” 

And Bruce maybe grinned a little wider. 

Jason _had_ said he wanted ‘real’ training. 

‘Real’ training involved a lot of sore muscles. 

“Tell Alfred I said you could have an ibuprofen, for the soreness,” he shouted back, not taking his eyes off Cassandra. 

“I’m not taking _painkillers,”_ Jason snapped back, but he kept whining very loudly all the way up the stairs. 

_In the morning he might,_ Bruce thought. 

“He’s a touch dramatic,” Bruce whispered to Cassandra, who grinned wider at his attention. He was still kneeling down, so he was sitting a little lower than her, and it looked like she’d completely relaxed. 

Hopefully because she’d understood none of them would hurt her, not because Jason had left. 

Regardless, he could pay her some attention, in the meantime, and hopefully help her understand more. 

“Okay sweetheart,” he said, standing to his feet and placing a hand on her back, “did you want to train, too?”

She didn’t answer, of course, but when Bruce walked over to the dummies, gently guiding her over by the hand on her back, she seemed to light up and absolutely came _alive_ when Bruce started working on one of them, allowing her to copy his movements on a second dummy, next to him. 

And when she never once shied away from Bruce, or flinched at his sudden movements, Bruce decided she _had_ understood what he wanted her to understand. 

That he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Hopefully she also understood that she wasn’t allowed to hurt the other kids, as well. 

Perhaps with that one, only time would tell. Time, patience, and a lot of supervision. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back~~~~
> 
> I'm doing a nanowrimo-style January for this fic, with a goal of 30k words by the end of January. As a result, there's gonna be slightly less proofreading, so I'm sorry if there are any errors. I will catch them all later, when I do more proofing once the month is over. 
> 
> I also don't know how many chapters that's going to represent. I was hoping 10 chapters, but this chapter ended up being 4k words, but took 6k words of writing to get, so we'll see. Updates will be sporadic this month, just as I get them done. I hope you all enjoy the updates. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


	28. Tim

Going back to school was weird. 

Bruce said they couldn’t skip _more_ school. Especially not Tim, who had already missed two days in two weeks of staying with the Waynes. 

Which was a totally fair point. Tim hadn’t missed _one_ day in the entire school year, until he started staying with the Waynes and they kept saying he didn’t have to go to school for dumb reasons. 

Although having the house broken into in the middle of the night probably wasn’t a _dumb_ reason. Maybe. For Damian. And Jason. Since they were the ones that really got targeted. Tim was just _there_ and got to meet Superman and Flash and go up to the _Watchtower._

And have Bruce find out he knew… 

But he would have been fine to not skip school, probably. He’d pulled all nighters several times before, and still gone to school just fine the next day. 

Bruce and Alfred didn’t need to know about that. Because Bruce and Alfred didn’t need to know about his night time hobby. 

Now it was Wednesday, so he’d been back to school for three days, and it still felt… off.

Weird. 

Tim’s leg bounced with nervous energy as he waited for the bell to ring. He was supposed to be doing his vocabulary worksheet. Matching up the words with their definitions, but he kept losing his train of thought half way through reading each definition.

He was eager to _go home._

Or. The Wayne’s home. 

Leave.

He was eager to _leave._

And wasn’t that a trip? He wasn’t overly fond of school, but he’d never been one to yearn for the end of the day, either. 

School was fun. Or, at least, not boring. Sitting at home all day was boring. Especially when he didn’t have much to do except more research on Batman and his associates. 

Now, though, sitting at ‘home’ all day _wasn’t_ boring. Because Damian or Jason were always there, and they actually spent time with Tim. Played games and watched movies with him. 

It was so cool. 

And _now_ there was Cassandra, too. 

Tim looked up when a hand settled on his back, where he was sitting at his desk _still_ not doing his vocab sheet. His teacher smiled down at him, her sweet smile she always offered Tim when she came to talk to him by himself shining on her face. 

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked, as she rubbed a circle on his back.

She asked that a lot, and it baffled him. Because he wasn’t sure what he was doing to make it seem like he _wasn’t_ okay. Because she didn’t ask the other kids that nearly as much as she asked him. 

Although she _had_ let up, recently. Which was nice. He liked not being asked if he was okay every single day. 

But he smiled back, like he always did, and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Her smile tightened, a little, as she pat at his back once, so he added, “I’m just ready to go home.” 

“All right,” she said, with one last pat, “you let me know if you need any help, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed easily, and she kept going on her rounds around the classroom, looking at everyone’s papers. 

He didn’t need help. The vocab was easy enough, he just needed to _concentrate._

Which he could do just fine. After school.

Although… that meant Alfred would probably make him sit at the island and do his work with Damian. And Bruce might come in and help, and then he’d be spending time on Tim when Tim didn’t _need_ help instead of spending time with Damian or Jason or Cassandra or even just Selina. 

Bruce didn’t have a lot of time, anyway. Cassandra was taking up _a lot_ of his and Alfred’s time. Because she was new and she didn’t understand much and she needed their attention. She was Bruce’s new daughter, after all. Of course she needed a lot of attention. 

Then Damian also needed a lot of attention, because he was still shaken up from being almost kidnapped. _Jason_ was shaken up, too, because he almost got _shot_ and his little brother almost got kidnapped and all that was perfectly valid reasons, although he was pretending he _wasn’t_ shaken up. Tim didn’t buy it, but he let Jason think he did.

Tim _wasn’t_ shaken up, though. Sure, he was having trouble sleeping and stuff, but he wasn’t _shaken up_ because he had no reason to be shaken up. Because again. He just got to meet Superman and stuff. It wasn’t like it was _him_ they were going after. 

He’s not sure who _they_ are, either. He kind of really wants to figure that out, but he doesn’t want to ask Bruce because why would Bruce tell him? He’s not even sure if Bruce is okay with him knowing about _Batman_. They’d yet to like…. Talk about that. 

But everyone keeps saying they won’t be coming back and they probably know what they’re talking about. 

Plus, now that he knew to call for _Superman,_ there was really no reason to be scared at all. He wasn’t sure if Superman would come _just_ for him, but if all of them were in danger, he would probably definitely come. Tim could shout that Damian or Jason was in trouble and he’d come. 

Besides, once he went back to _his_ house with _his_ parents. Or nanny. Or whatever they did, he’d be out of the line of fire again entirely. 

Tim… Tim was glad there was still many, many weeks left before that happened. Despite everything, he _was_ enjoying his time in Wayne Manor. 

His vocab, he thought, shaking his head to clear the thoughts. He needed to focus on his vocab. 

But then the bell rang, and Tim’s shoulders slouched. How had twenty minutes of homework time passed _already?_ He hadn’t got _any_ of his worksheet done, his only piece of homework for the night.

Now he’d have to do it at home.

Or… maybe in the car. On the way home.

Sure Jason would look over his shoulder and judge how he answered questions, but it would still be better than _Bruce_ wasting his time on it. 

Plus, he’d get all the answers _right,_ so it wasn’t like Jason had much to judge.

Quickly, Tim shoved his worksheet into his folder and grabbed his books from under his desk. He was so distracted by his own stupid head, half his class had already left the room and started grabbing their coats and backpacks from the lockers outside.

“Tim,” his teacher said, just as he passed her desk to leave the room, “Can we talk for a moment?”

He paused, with his back to her, and shut his eyes for a brief second.

She didn’t stop him _often_ while leaving the class, but it was enough to be annoying. 

Especially since it was never because Tim was in trouble or had done anything to warrant being held after class. 

And sure enough, Ms. Sonninen smiled when he finally turned around and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah,” he said, like he always did, “I’m fine.” 

“I’m just worried about you,” she said, “you missed two days of school last week, and that’s very unlike you, and you’ve seemed down ever since.” 

He’d seemed _down?_

“I’m not down,” he said, completely honestly. Because he wasn’t. He didn’t feel sad at all. Maybe a little jittery and restless and tired, from the not sleeping well, but he didn’t feel _sad._

She nodded, although Tim could tell she didn’t believe him, and asked,“You’ve been staying with Bruce Wayne, right? How’s that going?”

“Good,” he said, nodding, “It’s going good.” 

What was this about? Did she think Bruce was doing something? Making him sad? 

He had to shut _that_ down, because Bruce _wasn’t_ but if the school got all up in his business they could _find out._

Or even just find out about Cassandra, who was technically illegally staying with them at the moment. Bruce could get arrested for kidnapping, or something.

And then the city wouldn’t have Batman. 

“Its just,” he started, trying to figure out exactly how to word it, “Someone tried to break into the house last week, and the alarm system scared them away, but it happened at like 3am and….” he trailed off. He knew _exactly_ how she’d take that, too. 

That was just the approved story Bruce gave them, and she’d think he was afraid of some random robber, which he _wasn’t._

He wasn’t even afraid of _kidnappers_ who tried to shoot _Jason_ right in front of him.

But maybe it would get her off his back. 

“It was scary,” she finished for him, smiling sympathetically.

Tim felt his shoulders relax, just a touch. She was buying it. “Yeah,” he said, “Bruce keeps saying they won’t be stupid enough to come back, but it's still hard to sleep sometimes.”

Ms. Sonninen reached out and pat at Tim’s hand as she said, “Well you let me know if you need anything, okay? Or if you need to talk.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said, readjusting his books in his arms, “I gotta go catch my ride.” Alfred would be waiting for him if he took any more time.

“Have a nice evening, Tim,” she said, smiling again, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Thanks, you too.” 

Tim didn’t sigh until he’d made it to his locker, far outside her view. 

He felt bad for lying to her, mildly. She was a nice teacher, probably the nicest one he’d ever had, but it was necessary.

Besides, even though she was nice, the Waynes were _way_ nicer. Because while Tim was shoving his books into his locker and fishing out his gloves and coat to put on, Damian skipped up behind him. Because Damian _always_ came through Tim’s hall on the way outside. There were two halls he could take to get to the front door, but he’d started taking Tim’s hall so he could maybe catch Tim before he went outside. 

He rarely did, but when he did, it always made Tim smile a little.

“Why are you taking so long,” he asked, catching Tim’s coat before he could drop it, while he tried to keep all the crap in his locker from falling out. 

His locker needed a serious reorganization. 

“You usually beat me outside,” Damian finished.

“Sorry, my teacher made me stay after to talk.”

Damian raised an eyebrow and asked, “You got _in trouble?_ ” like he couldn’t even believe Tim would ever do something to get in trouble.

Although…. It was probably a fair assessment. Tim tried his best not to get in trouble. 

“No,” he said, with a sigh, “She just wanted to know why I missed school last week.”

“Oh. Why didn’t she ask on Monday?”

Tim just shrugged.

That was a good question. Although maybe she hadn’t found it concerning until she noticed he was _down._

Which, again, he _wasn’t._

“My teacher asked on Monday,” Damian said, as Tim finally took his coat back and slipped it on, now that he’d got his books all inside and his gloves and hat shoved into his backpack, along with his homework folder. 

“I dunno,” Tim mumbled, shrugging again as he slipped his backpack on and shut his locker. 

He didn’t want to tell Damian about how she thought he was _down._ Or was concerned about where he was staying and how it was _going._

Damian didn’t need to know any of that. 

Because if Damian knew it, he’d tell Bruce, and then Bruce would be asking al about it. And Bruce didn’t need to worry. Tim had it handled. He wouldn’t do anything to get the teachers all concerned about Bruce’s house. 

He _wouldn’t._

Because Bruce’s house was pretty awesome, he had to admit.

\- - - 

Tim managed to finish his homework before they got home, and Jason only criticized him _once_ for doing it in the car. 

“You’re such a nerd,” he’d said, “doing your homework in the car.” 

But when Tim had said, “ _I’m_ the nerd, you’re the one reading a book for _fun,”_ Jason had left him alone. 

After he’d smirked and said, “I never said I wasn’t one.” 

But because he’d finished his homework before they got home, Alfred let him ‘run off’ and do whatever he wanted. 

Which, he’d decided, was take pictures outside in the fresh snow.

He spent about half an hour, wandering the estate alone, with Alfred’s permission. There were so many neat things on the Wayne estate that the Drake estate lacked. Like the playground, for one. But also all the beautiful statues, ornately trimmed bushes, and vast garden. 

Even in winter the gardens were pretty, so Tim found plenty of things to photograph.

Then Cassandra came and found him. 

She wasn’t dressed up as much as Tim was. Alfred had made him prove he was wearing the appropriate winter attire. Hat, gloves, boots, and a coat. 

But Cassandra _had_ put a jacket and boots on. And Tim doubted she’d got past Alfred without him noticing, so he must have thought it was enough for her. Maybe she refused gloves or something, he didn’t know.

He kind of wished he could take his gloves off, but at least they were thin enough he could still press all the buttons on his camera without too much trouble.

“Hi, Cassandra,” he said, when she came skipping over. He was knelt down in the garden, trying to get a good up close picture of a duck that was floating in the half frozen pond on the estate, without getting so close he’d scare it away.

Cassandra lit up in the way she always did when anyone talked to her, and it kind of made Tim sad. Because if she was just so happy to be _talked to,_ her time before Bruce bringing her home must have sucked. 

She bounced over and knelt down, right next to Tim, and stared at his camera. 

“Want to see what I’m doing?” he asked, pulling his camera from his face. She hadn’t seen him take pictures yet. Mostly because he hadn’t been taking pictures much. 

Which was why it was important to be outside, taking pictures of the fresh snow. 

So Alfred and Bruce didn’t go asking questions about what he _normally_ took pictures of.

Tim held the camera down, so Cassandra could see the screen too, and started flipping back through his recent photos. Mostly pictures of the ducks, swimming around and being ducks. But there were a few of the trees, and the way the snow had fallen around some of the statues in the garden.

Cassandra smiled wide when Tim got back to a picture of Ace, rolling around in the snow, twenty minutes prior when he’d come out to go potty, and got distracted with the snow. 

She pointed at the screen with one finger, right at Ace, so Tim grinned and said, “Yes, that’s Ace.” 

“Ace,” she repeated, still pointing at the dog, “Ace.”

Her pronunciation wasn’t _quite_ there. She held the ‘ss’ sound too long, and her ‘a’ came out a bit flat, but it was probably the _best word_ she’d said so far. 

“Good job,” he said, grinning even wider when she looked pleased with herself, too, “That’s so good. Ace.” 

“Ace,” she agreed. 

Tim couldn’t help but think he liked Cassandra. Jason kept warning him that she was an assassin, but he didn’t think she was mean. Or would hurt him. 

She was actually really sweet. 

Plus, Bruce was dangerous and could kill them all if he wanted, too, but he wasn’t scared of Bruce. Because Bruce would never do that.

_Alfred_ used to be a marine or something, in Great Britain, and Tim wasn’t scared of him, either. So it was dumb to be scared of Cassandra. 

So what if she _could_ hurt him. She probably wouldn’t.

Maybe if she _did_ attack them, then he’d be a little scared. But when all she did was smile a lot and liked to curl up in blankets and watch movies or watch Tim play a game or listen to him read aloud? He didn’t think she was scary at all.

He liked her a lot, actually. They could be best friends, once she got better at talking. 

Although by then she would probably start going to school, and she might find people she liked better there. 

She didn’t _have_ to be Tim’s friend, just because Bruce thought they were about the same age. There were _lots_ of other kids in their grade at school. 

But it’d be cool if she wanted to keep being his friend, he thought. 

Cassandra pointed at his camera, so he stood up and found something else to take a picture of. A cool cluster of rocks, down by the stream, where the thin stream had frozen over them. 

Once he snapped the picture, Cassandra held her hand out, making a grabbing motion for it, so Tim held it down so she could see the picture, too. 

Her bright grin was enough to make him keep going, finding more and more things to take pictures of.

Eventually, Cassandra started finding things she liked, and pointed at them until Tim took a picture. 

The swing-set, moving slightly in the wind.

A bird, hopping around at the edge of the tree-line behind the estate. 

The fallen snow, startled from its resting place after she’d found a rock and thrown it at a little tree. 

Every single time Tim showed her the picture, she grinned brightly, looking back and forth between the screen and the thing he’d just taken a picture of. So finally, after he’d done about ten things she’d picked out, he pointed the camera at her and took a picture of her smiling face. 

Her eyes went wide, for a second, before she was reaching out for the camera to see. 

“Ssassana,” she exclaimed, looking at herself on the screen, “Ssassana!”

“Yeah, that’s you. Cassandra.” 

“Roosse,”Cassandra said, looking up and behind Tim. She pointed at the screen eagerly and said,“Roosse, Ssassana.”

Tim turned quickly to see Bruce making his way through the trees to where he and Cassandra had wandered to. He didn’t look… happy. Exactly. 

Alfred hadn’t told Tim he _wasn’t_ allowed in the woods. Just that he had to stay on the estate. And since the estate _included_ the trees, he hadn’t disobeyed. 

But Bruce still looked unhappy about where they were, so maybe they weren’t supposed to be so far from the Manor. 

Although Bruce did smile at Cassandra, and finished walking over to where they were standing, Cassandra still completely enamored with the picture of herself. 

“Hi Bruce,” he said, forcing a smile on his face. If he just pretended he didn’t think he was in trouble, then maybe Bruce could forget about it, too. “I took a picture of Cassandra, she really likes it.” 

Bruce settled a hand on Cassandra’s head, getting it all tangled up in her hair as he looked down at the picture. “That is a great picture. You have quite a talent. That’s a good picture of you, Cassandra.”

“Roosse,” Cassandra said, pushing the camera back up into Tim’s face before she pointed at Bruce and repeated, “Roosse.” 

“Sure, I’ll take a picture of Bruce,” he said, grinning at how excited Cassandra looked about it, but then he looked up at how absolutely puzzled Bruce looked and added, “If, uh, you want.” 

“Ah,” Bruce said, his face softening as he did. He squatted down next to Cassandra and nodded as he said, “Bruce and Cassandra.” 

It took a second, during which time Bruce pulled Cassandra over near him and turned her toward the camera. All he had to do to get her to smile again was point at his own smile and point at the camera, and she grinned brightly again, Bruce with one arm around her as he smiled as well.

So Tim took the picture.

Cassandra liked that picture even _more._ She pointed at herself and Bruce a couple times, saying both their names, before she looked at Tim and said “Ssassana Eem,” pointing at the camera again.

Tim hadn’t quite caught on to what she said, yet, when Bruce spoke up and said, “You want a picture of Cassandra and Tim?” 

And oh. 

She’d said _Tim._

It was the first time he’d heard her say his name. 

He didn’t even know she _knew_ his name, since she never had said it before the couple times Tim had tried to teach her it. 

Tim couldn’t help his grin.

“Ssassana Eem,” she repeated, so Bruce held his hand out for Tim’s camera. 

Happily, Tim took the camera off from around his neck and passed it over, then let Cassandra stand next to him and smile widely as Bruce took the picture. 

When Bruce handed the camera back, Tim opened up the image and looked at it with Cassandra, trying not to smile too hard. 

He was so glad Bruce took it on his camera, so that _he_ had the picture. 

“Send me a copy of those, would you?” Bruce said, once Tim had finally clicked off the camera, “I love your photography.” 

“You do?” Tim asked, a little confused. It was no surprise Bruce wanted a picture of him and his daughter…. Future daughter? But he wasn’t expecting the _I love your photography_ comment _._

All Tim did was click a button. Point the camera and click a button.

And, yeah, sure he usually had to set the ISO and aperture and shutter speed and everything else, but really for the picture of Cassandra and Cassandra and Bruce he’d just flipped to _portrait_ mode and let the camera do everything. 

“Of course,” Bruce said, like it should have been obvious he would, “You are very talented, son. I’d love to frame some of your work and hang it up, it’s that good.” 

“Oh,” he whispered, dazed. 

Not even his _parents_ had cared that much.

But Bruce wanted to _hang it on the wall?_

Not stick it on the fridge with a crappy magnet. 

But _frame it._

And put it on the _wall._ Alongside all the beautiful artwork and professional photos decorating Wayne Manor. 

Just. 

_Wow._

Tim would _definitely_ send Bruce the pictures he took. He’d also go back and find some of the ones he’d taken of the others in the family. Like the one of Damian and Jason building snowmen during their snow day. Or of Alfred drinking tea while he watched Tim take pictures. Bruce would probably like those, too. 

Tim looked up questioningly when Bruce sat his hand on Tim’s back and gently started leading him out of the woods. 

“It’s about time you came inside,” Bruce explained, motioning for Cassandra to follow, “besides. We don’t really want you two out here alone, okay?”

“But, Alfred said I could come take pictures,” Tim said, furrowing his brow as he curled his fingers around his camera.

Alfred _had_ said he could, hadn’t he?

Yes, because he had approved of Tim’s outerwear before telling him he could stay outside until dinner time, or until his nose got too cold, whichever happened first. And since it wasn’t even 6pm yet, it wasn’t dinner time. And his nose was totally fine.

“Yes, but,” Bruce started, but he looked over at Cassandra and sighed. 

And Tim understood. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t want _Tim_ alone. They didn’t want Tim alone _with_ Cassandra.

“We were just taking pictures,” Tim said, a little dumbly, trying not to absolutely deflate over it, “it was fun.” 

Cassandra strolled along beside them, but when she looked at Tim, she knit her brow and looked back and forth between him and Bruce. 

Realization seemed to dawn on her, because she straightened up and said, “Eem,” as she reached up and pat Tim on the arm. 

Tim didn’t get it, but Bruce said, “That’s right, good job.” 

“Eem,” she repeated, reaching out and taking his hand, “Eem Ssassana.” She pulled his hand toward her own arm, so Tim awkwardly pat at her arm like he thought she wanted, not quite sure what she was doing. 

“That’s right,” Bruce said again, “We’re all kind to each other.” 

“Oh. Yes. Kind,” Tim said, after a second. He remembered something about Cassandra repeating _kind_ the night before at dinner. He didn’t get what she was saying, but he also had been trying to eat as fast as he could so he could go back to his room. 

“You two can play together inside,” Bruce assured, but Tim just knew by _that_ he meant _while being supervised._

He’d still play with her, of course. If she wanted him to. They could probably find lots of things to take pictures of inside. 

_Or_ they could find something else to do. Surely Tim could find some game that would be easy enough to teach her, even without the ability to talk her through it. 

But he felt bad for her, a little. Because there really was no reason to be afraid of Cassandra. And it sucked any of them _were._

_\- - -_

The evening passed without event. He and Cassandra played a game of memory before dinner. It’d taken a minute for her to figure out what they were doing, and Tim had to keep correcting her when she tried to flip over more than two cards at a time. But once she got the hang of taking turns, she started doing really well and seemed to actually like the game, so Tim counted it as a win.

But then after dinner she wandered on down to the cave, following after Bruce like she did every night, so Tim went to his room so he could start going through all the pictures they took and find the good ones to send to Bruce. Along with all the good ones of Damian and Jason and Alfred he’d thought of, he found a few more of Figaro and Ace to include, and emailed them all to Bruce’s personal email account, knowing he’d see them once he got home from patrol. 

And before he went to bed, he decided to print a few out, himself. 

Bruce’s printer in the library was always loaded up with the paper, and he had told Tim he could print off whatever he wanted, whenever, and had even showed him where the extra ink and paper was, but Tim had yet to print anything.

It just felt… weird. Especially since he never printed off anything not Batman-related, except for his one single photo album he’d made to show his parents. 

But that night, he printed off all the pictures Cassandra had asked him to take on little 4x6 prints. And even though Cassandra was down in the cave when he finished, he slipped them under her door, so hopefully she’d see them when she went to bed and she’d still like them just as much as she had while they were taking them.

And the extra copy of _his_ picture he printed he placed right on his dresser, where he could see it and it wouldn’t get all messed up, so he could keep it forever. 

Cassandra might not be his friend forever, but he was happy she was his friend for now. 

Yeah. There was definitely no reason to be afraid of Cassandra. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written over 12k words now in January for this fic. A ton of them were in my outline, because I HAVE AN OUTLINE NOW!!!
> 
> I have, like, a real life chapter plan and know there's about 15 more 'things' that must happen before I can wrap this fic up. That means there are AT LEAST 15 more chapters, but probably like at least 20+ more, because some events will require multiple chapters, and I'm sure there will be like 2-3 wrap up chapters at the end to tie everything up nice and pretty. This is a long freaking fic, my friends, and I'm so happy to finally have direction on it. 
> 
> I'm out of travel quarantine starting Tuesday so I don't know how quickly I'll get the next chapter out, but I'm still working toward 30k words in this fic this month. Hopefully most the words from here on out will actually be chapter words. We'll see! Thanks so much for reading. 🥰.


	29. Bruce

Bruce felt guilty, having to go outside and put an end to Cassandra and Tim’s expedition around the estate. 

But no one had realized she’d gone outside, alone, to be with Tim. Bruce thought she’d wandered off to be with Alfred, while Alfred thought Bruce was still watching her. 

As much as Bruce _wanted_ to trust her, he found it a little difficult. Especially after their misunderstanding the day before with Jason. 

They’d get there, he knew. She’d continue learning, and communication would become easier. Eventually, they’d be able to talk and understand each other, in both directions. Cassandra would be able to express why she did things, or what she thought, and Bruce would be able to more effectively lay out their expectations. 

Until then… well. They’d just make sure there was supervision. 

The rest of the night had gone well, however. 

Tim and Cassandra played until dinner, and Bruce was happy to see it. 

It was sweet, how well they seemed to get along. And considering they were about the same age, it was nice Cassandra was already making friends with one of her peers from school, once they eventually got her enrolled at Gotham Academy.

But after dinner, Cassandra followed him right down to the cave, and Bruce wasn’t sure how to put an end to it. 

Every single night he said, “No, Cassandra,” but she never listened. 

He wished he knew how David Cain or Talia or _whoever_ gave her missions… gave them to her. How did she know what she was supposed to do?

Bruce had been muddling along, only sort of getting his point across to her, he felt like. Sometimes she seemed to understand perfectly, but other times, like with cave access… well. 

She seemed to either completely ignore him, or not understand one bit. 

Like she was at the moment, when he tried to tell her to go upstairs, but she just stayed standing there, right in front of him. 

“I bet she wants to go out with you,” Jason said, as he kept flipping through the book Bruce had him studying, currently. He’d slept straight through dinner the night before and hadn’t woken up until his alarm went off, but Bruce wasn’t letting him off so easy today. 

Even though he worked him just as hard in his physical training. 

“Maybe,” he agreed, with a sigh. He wasn’t going to allow that. Too many times, already, she’d nearly given him a heart attack by dropping in on their cases and confronting men three or four times her size. 

Obviously he knew she could handle herself, but she shouldn’t _have_ to. He’d much prefer she stay home, where she was safe. 

“Go find Selina,” he tried, pointing up the stairs. Selina was upstairs with Damian, and was dealing with him that night. She probably wouldn’t _hate_ him for sending Cassandra her way, too.

But Cassandra merely looked up the stairs, and didn’t make a single step toward them. She turned back to Bruce after a second and cocked her head. 

Bruce sighed louder. 

“Okay,” he finally said, “Okay fine. How about you train some, while I get work done before patrol.” 

“Why do you keep letting her train, what’s she training for?” Jason asked, “she’s, like, eleven. You said we had to be thirteen.” 

“I think training is one of the few things that’s familiar to her,” Bruce said, as he led her over toward the training area where they had a rock wall and climbing ropes. It was the closest thing to ‘playground’ they had in the cave, so he hoped it would at least be _fun_ for her. 

Cassandra lit up when Bruce pointed at the area, and immediately leapt at one of the ropes and hoisted herself up it. She swung from one to another, like a little monkey, so Bruce figured she must find it fun. 

Never in a million years would he have allowed the boys to do what she was doing. Dick… maybe. Just due to his trapeze training. But the other boys?

Hell no.

But Cassandra’s training probably rivaled Dick’s, and she clearly knew what she was doing.

“Besides,” he added, once he’d watched her for a moment, “I’ve trained you pretty much as long as I’ve known you, and I’ve been training Damian since he was a toddler.”

“Yeah, but it’s different,” Jason said, but there was no real heat to his voice. No true anger there. 

“You are different people with different needs,” Bruce pointed out. All his kids were very different, and all have required very different handling. 

Jason did _not_ need intense training in his life, when he first came to the Manor. Bruce was fairly certain intense training would have _hindered_ his recovery from his time on the street, and the abuse he’d suffered throughout his life. Perhaps it could have helped, but being _away_ from violence did him wonders, while Dick had thrived on it training and being Robin. 

Cassandra… he didn’t know. Perhaps it was too early to tell. For the time being, it seemed to be something she _understood,_ so Bruce wasn’t going to stop her from training. 

“I guess,” Jason eventually acquiesced. Apparently lacking the energy to argue about it. That, or actually understanding what Bruce meant. But probably the tired thing.

The cave lapsed into silence, after that. Jason kept on reading, curled up in the batcomputer’s chair, while Bruce finally went about doing what he needed to do. Mainly, add some coolant to the batmobile and replace some of the batarangs in his belt. Cassandra drifted between the different areas of the training area, and had eventually found her way to the punching bags and was going to town on them. 

And that’s how the evening went, for three hours until Bruce had finally finished going through the police reports his system had flagged as potential cases. 

Jason had long since fallen asleep in his chair, something Bruce had fully expected to happen. It would probably be weeks before his stamina was up enough he could do a hard training session _and_ stay up for comms duty. 

Cassandra, on the other hand, had taken to throwing the batarangs Bruce removed from his belt. He’d thought about telling her ‘no’ and taking them away, when she’s first wandered over and picked one up, but since she’d moved far away from Jason and started throwing at a dummy, in the opposite direction of him, Bruce decided not to fight it. 

It was fascinating, he had to admit, watching how she learned to throw the new object, since she was clearly used to throwing only knives. Some of her targets, on the other hand, were not quite so fascinating. Bruce would need to pull out some dummies that alarmed, whenever lethal force was used. To hopefully teach her not to use it… 

He wasn’t sure if any of her shots so far _had_ been lethal force. Not without inspecting closer and watching her more intently, but she’d come pretty close, at the very least. 

“All right,” he said, loud enough so Cassandra could hear him from a few dozen feet away, “it’s time for bed.” 

Cassandra looked over at him, and smiled when he raised his eyebrows, trying his best to convey ‘did you hear me? Come here’ to her. She set the batarang she was holding down and skipped over toward Bruce, near the computer.

“You too, Jay,” he said, turning and placing a hand on top of Jason’s head, “it’s bedtime.” 

“Mmm,” Jason grumbled, as he shifted around. After a second, he finally opened his eyes and added, “I didn’t finish this chapter.” 

“And I highly doubt you will tonight, come on. Get up, I want you both in bed before I leave.” 

“Bed,” Cassandra said, in the way she always butchered words.

“That’s right,” Bruce said, smiling at her briefly, “we go to sleep in bed.” 

“I wanted to help with comms tonight,” Jason whined as he put his notes inside his textbook and shut it. 

“You’re too tired,” was all Bruce had to say. Even _if_ he let Jason stay up and run comms, he’d likely fall right back to sleep within the hour and be completely useless to them _and_ uncomfortable in his sleep. 

It took another minute, and more prodding, but Bruce finally got Jason on his feet and both kids heading up the stairs. 

Cassandra was remarkably easy to put to bed each night. He had figured, initially, that putting her to bed would be one of the _hardest_ things, since in his experience, kids never wanted to go to bed, and combining that with the inability to fully communicate with her just sounded impossible.

But once they finally got upstairs, and headed down toward the rooms, Cassandra bounced on ahead and into her room. 

“Good night Jay, I love you,” he said, as Jason broke away and pushed open his own bedroom door. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, “night. But I’m helping with comms this weekend, okay?” 

“Sure, lad,” Bruce agreed easily, as he stopped at Jason’s door, watching as he started pulling out pajamas from his dresser to get ready for bed. 

“I will,” Jason said, apparently taking Bruce’s tone as denial, “I’ll take a nap during the day if I gotta.”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Kay, night,” Jason said back, as Bruce shut his door. A few seconds later, he heard the lock click and all he could do was sigh. 

It would take a while for Jason to feel safe again, too. 

“Okay sweetheart,” he said, once he moved on down the hall and entered Cassandra’s room, “Let’s get you—“ he stopped, because he almost ran right into Cassandra, so who was standing a foot inside her door, just staring down at something in her hands.

“What do you have there?” he asked, stepping around her so he was in front of her, and could actually see what she was leaning over. 

And what she had were pictures. 

“Ssassana,” she said, pointing at the picture of herself Tim had taken earlier in the day. 

“Yes, Cassandra,” he said, kneeling down so he could look at the pictures, too, “Did Tim give you pictures? That was nice of him.” 

Cassandra took a minute to flip through all the photos, showing each one to Bruce with enthusiasm. A lot of them just seemed like random things to him, but hopefully they had meaning to Cassandra. 

“We’ll have to teach you to say ‘thank you’ tomorrow,” Bruce said, once Cassandra had gone through all the photos once. He gently took the photos from her hands, with only the barest hesitation from her. 

It was clear she didn’t _want_ to give them to Bruce, but wasn’t going to deny the request either. 

Bruce had to pause, for just a second, as he stood up and brought the photos over to Cassandra’s nightstand. “We’ll put them here for safe keeping, you can keep looking at them tomorrow,” he promised. He tapped on the stack and repeated, “Tomorrow,” to her, “Bed now.” 

“Bed,” Cassandra repeated, turning and rushing over to her dresser where Alfred had stocked plenty of clothes for her. 

They went through the motions of bedtime, and Bruce watched as she picked out some pajamas and stayed waiting in her bedroom while she went into the bathroom and did everything she needed to do, including brush her teeth.

The very first night, they had to teach her to shut the door, but ever since she hadn’t needed reminding. Cassandra’s independence was something to be thankful for, he supposed. And her ability to pick up tasks and routines easily. All they had to do was lead her to her room and say it was ‘bed time’ and she did everything else.

Once she was dressed and ready for bed, she came back out and went straight to her bed, where Bruce had already pulled the covers back for her. Another thing they had to show her, how to sleep in the bed. 

Bruce didn’t want to think about the implications of that. 

Where did Cain have her sleep, if not in a bed?? 

“Bay-get,” Cassandra said, as she crawled up into her bed and snuggled down into one of the pillows. She smiled when Bruce tucked her favorite ‘bay-get’ around her. 

“Yep, blanket. Good night,” he said, running a hand through her hair before he stepped back, “Alfred will come get you in the morning.” 

Another thing to be thankful for. Thus far, she hadn’t left her room until someone came and got her. 

Cassandra wrapped the blanket around her tightly and smiled again as Bruce shut off the light and left the room. 

Ideally he knew, at the age of tenish, she should be far beyond having to be put to bed and gotten up every morning, the way toddlers are, but it was a bit relieving to know exactly where she was all night long. 

One less thing to worry about, for the time being.

There were _way_ too many things to worry about, as it was. 

\- - -

Patrol that night was relatively quiet. 

Or, well. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Plenty of muggings and break ins and drug deals to bust. He and Dick were busy the whole night long, bouncing from one scene to another, sometimes splitting up there were so many police reports. 

But it was _just_ minor crimes. No League activity, to Bruce’s continued relief. 

Although soon enough that relief would start being anxiety, if they went too long without hearing from them… 

He wasn’t naive enough to believe Talia would simply give up on Damian, or that David Cain wouldn’t be _pissed_ upon learning Talia gave them Cassandra. 

Bruce needed to get on the paperwork for her, if he wanted to protect her stay with them legally. 

If David Cain went accusing him of kidnapping in the legal forum, he would need documents proving his custody of her, spelling out all the reasons _why_ David Cain’s claim to custody was meaningless. 

The whole no language thing was likely the biggest point in their favor, but there were so many other signs of horrific abuse… he wasn’t worried in the least they wouldn’t win custody of her. It was a no-brainer that all ties to _whoever_ had her before needed to be severed.

He just needed to figure out _how_ to go about it. 

And how to explain her… peculiar form of abuse. And why _Bruce Wayne_ of all people had ended up with her. 

By the time he was done with patrol and his post-patrol reports, it was just past 3am, and he needed to get at least a few hours of sleep before starting the day all over again. 

There weren’t enough hours in the day.

He didn’t know how other people did it. Had a lot of kids and gave them all the attention they needed. 

Kept up with work, ‘hobbies,’ and other relationships… 

_Four_ children was far too many, and he knew at least one of his executives at WE had _seven._

How did they do it?

Batman took up more than half his day, most days. Even when he wasn’t training and patrolling, he was working through cases. Doing research. Writing up reports. Communicating with law enforcement. _Testifying,_ sometimes. Then he still had a ‘real’ job, too. Sure, he’d pawned a lot of his responsibilities off on other people at WE, but there were a few things he hadn’t been able to ditch, entirely.

Which left him with only so much time each day, and now _four_ children, plus Dick and Selina and Alfred, to give his attention to. 

It was impossible. 

And it didn’t help much that Cassandra took up quite a bit of his time. 

He didn’t regret her, obviously. Was very happy she was there, but now with her around, it was more difficult to catch up on sleep while the other kids were at school. 

Maybe everything would be a little easier, once Tim went back home…. 

Right. Like the Drakes were going to take stress _away_ from him, instead of give him more.

Upstairs, Bruce had to do his rounds before he could go to bed and check on the source of the majority of his stress. The kids.

Damian, of course, was in his room. Most likely, unless Selina somehow managed to get him into his _own_ bed. They’d decided they would give it a week, and then start working on forcing him back to his room. And since it hadn’t quite been a week, yet, it was unlikely he was anywhere but in Bruce’s room. 

Jason’s door was still locked, Bruce had no doubt, so he didn’t even try the knob. But listening at the door Bruce could hear his deep breathing, proving he was absolutely _out._

Bruce didn’t try to open Cassandra’s door. He’d done that, her second night in the Manor, and Cassandra had jumped awake. Her wide eyes peering at him from where she’d stayed curled up under her blanket had been enough to make him feel like the worst person on the planet. Until she became more comfortable in the house, he’d settle for simply listening at her door. 

Unfortunately, she did not breathe nearly as loudly as Jason did, while asleep, so Bruce never could hear her, but Jason was quite similar in the early days. Before he’d learned to trust the sanctuary of his bedroom, and the safety of the manor in general. One day, he was sure he’d be able to peek in on Cassandra, too, without disturbing her. 

Tim, on the other hand, was not a child he tried to peek in at. It was inappropriate, he felt. Or, maybe shy of that, unnerving. From the point of view of a ten-year-old child staying over at a neighbor’s house, having the father of the home open his door in the middle of the night to look at him. 

It didn’t stop Bruce from needing to ensure he was there, though. So on his way back to his room, he stopped at Tim’s door and listened for a moment.

And it took just a moment for Bruce to realize his entire night would _not_ be spent sleeping. 

Because instead of sleeping soundly, Tim was in there trying to hide the fact he was crying. Probably because he was aware Bruce was checking on him, at the moment, and didn’t want to ‘bother him’ with it. 

There were not near enough hours in the day. 

“Tim,” he said, knocking lightly on the door, “can I come in.” 

“I’m fine,” Tim said back, his voice garbled by his mostly-silent tears. Whatever he was crying about had got him hard. 

Sighing, Bruce pushed open the door, anyway. Tim’s default answer was _always_ ‘fine.’ 

He was almost never fine, when he said he was. 

“Really, I’m okay,” Tim said, once the door was open and Bruce was looking right at him, curled up on top of his blankets, his pillow tossed to the side. As if he’d been hugging it, but put it down before Bruce could see. 

Bruce kind of wanted to get him stuffed animals, instead. They might help more than a pillow, if Tim’s nightmares were as frequent as they seemed, and he stayed averse to seeking out comfort from actual people. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” Bruce asked, anyway. Completely ignoring Tim's assurances. 

“Yeah but I can handle it,” Tim protested, as he sat up and scrubbed his eyes roughly, not really succeeding in doing anything but making his blotchy face redder. 

Tim most likely _could_ handle his nightmares. If he’d been living alone for a year, and possibly staying by himself for longer than that, prior to coming to the Manor, he wouldn’t have had much of a choice _but_ to handle it.

And the mere idea that a little ten-year-old child was spending his night scared to tears, crying, and trying to push through until morning just because he _had_ to almost sent Bruce right back down to the punching bags downstairs. 

Which wouldn’t help Tim in the least. 

“Come on,” he said, motioning for Tim to get up and follow him, “let’s go watch a movie.” 

Stretched thin or not, Bruce could sacrifice his night to at least show Tim _someone_ cared about his happiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took longer than I anticipated, but I'm suddenly free tomorrow and Monday, so maybe I'll get the next chapter up super quick. It should be a fun one, too. I hope. :D If it goes the way my plan says it should. hahah
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the lovely comments you leave me. ❤️❤️❤️❤️


	30. Tim

“Do you want some hot chocolate?” Bruce asked, after he’d ushered Tim out of his room and downstairs. He was leading Tim toward the kitchen, and Tim didn’t want to go there.

“No,” he mumbled.

He hadn’t wanted to go downstairs in the first place. Bruce had just got back from patrol, and was doing his normal thing where he checked on all the kids before going to bed. He was probably _exhausted._ The last thing he needed to do was make Tim hot chocolate and stay up the rest of the night watching a movie with him.

Tim would have been _fine._ He would either get back to sleep, once his stupid brain stopped being mean and making him think of things, or he wouldn’t. And he’d find something to occupy himself with. Like maybe playing a video game. He could distract himself with a video game easy. 

“Do you really not want it, or are you just saying that so I won’t waste time making it,” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

It made Tim scowl at him. “I _really_ don’t want it.” He didn’t even like hot chocolate, anyway. Not that much. Definitely not enough to want it in the middle of the night just because he’d been crying. 

That was something he needed to work on. Not crying. He still wasn’t used to people being able to hear him… His room at home was on the opposite side of the floor from his parents, so he’d have to scream really loud for them to hear at night. Which was fine. Exactly how Tim wanted it. He didn’t want _anyone_ to know when he was crying, because it was stupid to be upset over dumb dreams, anyway. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, as he motioned for Tim to enter the kitchen before him, anyway, “is there anything you do want to drink?” 

“No thanks,” he said, before he even thought about it. He didn’t _need_ anything to drink. His bedroom had water. 

Besides, if he wanted anything to drink, it would probably be tea. But he didn’t even know if Bruce knew _how_ to make tea. He hadn’t seen him do it yet, since Alfred always made their tea. And he definitely didn’t want Bruce to try and figure it out, if he didn’t know how. Or, worse, bother Alfred. 

Because, again. Tim didn’t need anything. What he _needed_ was to be left alone in his room, where he was fine. 

Bruce sighed, and rubbed at his face with one hand while he walked over to the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of water, and turned back toward Tim. 

Tim wrapped his arms around himself and just stared back. 

“Come on,” Bruce said, after sighing again, “Let’s go watch that movie.” 

“I’m really fine,” Tim protested, but he did follow Bruce out of the kitchen and down the hall. Arguing in the kitchen was just going to waste _more_ of Bruce’s time, not save any. 

Maybe he could convince Bruce to start the movie then go away. 

“I know,” Bruce hummed, and didn’t say anything else. 

It was kind of infuriating. 

“You can go to bed,” he snapped, and immediately hated himself for bossing around _Batman._

Before Bruce had the chance to respond at all, Tim hastily added, “You’re probably tired.” 

Nope. Still sounded like being bossy. Tim tightened his arms around himself and wished he could just go back to his room and hide. 

If he’d used that tone on his dad, he’d _flip._ Absolutely flip out and start screaming at him for being disrespectful and bratty and—and— he didn’t even know. Because he usually stopped listening and focused on not crying whenever his dad was yelling. 

Tim cringed when Bruce stopped and turned toward Tim. 

But… then all Bruce did was reach into the living room he’d stopped outside and flip the light on while _smiling_ at Tim. 

Or. Sort of. He wasn’t smiling _big._ And if Tim didn’t know Bruce, he wouldn’t know he was smiling, since his smiles were flat a lot of time time. But _still._

“I am tired,” Bruce admitted, with a little shrug, “but I’ll let you in on a secret.” 

“What,” Tim asked, hesitantly, furrowing his brow a little.

Did it not bother him at all that Tim was trying to boss him around?

Bruce smiled a little more and motioned with his head for Tim to follow. “I’m always tired,”he said, as he walked further into the living room and started looking around. Probably for the remotes. Since no one ever put them back in the same place twice. 

Even though there was a basket where they belonged, that Alfred fussed at them for not using _all the time._

Tim wasn’t sure how to respond to Bruce’s ‘secret,’ other than to frown. If he was always tired, he should sleep more. And definitely shouldn’t be staying up with Tim once a week to watch a movie with him. 

“Pick a seat, Tim,” Bruce said pointedly, as he started lifting up pillows off the couch, until the remotes turned up under one of them, “If I went to bed right now, I probably wouldn’t sleep much anyway. Damian kicks in his sleep.” 

“Then—“ Tim started, but stopped himself before he could tell Bruce what to do. _Again._ Just because it didn’t bother him once didn’t mean it wouldn’t wear on him. Tim quickly took a seat on the side of the couch that was directly facing the TV.

Bruce looked over, though, from where he was turning everything on and prompted, “Then?” 

_“_ Then…” Tim said, slowly, hesitantly, “Why don’t you make him sleep in his own bed?” 

“Because I love him.” 

What did that have to do with it? Tim thought, as he furrowed his brow. Bruce was _Batman._ He needed his sleep. 

Literally nothing about Bruce _ever_ made sense. He was so… different. From his parents. From his dad.

So so _so_ different. 

The TV finally clicked the life, after Bruce had to hit the remote a few times against his hand. The batteries were getting old, and it had been like that for several days. But no one had bothered to replace them yet. 

With the TV on now, Bruce turned his attention to blankets, and knelt down by the basket under the table and pulled two out. While he was shaking open one, he walked over to Tim said said, “It’s just one of those things you do for your kids, Tim,” and draped the blanket over Tim’s legs. “Their long-term happiness is more important than my short-term comfort.”

 _But he was Batman,_ Tim thought, with a scowl. It was _way_ more than his ‘short-term comfort’ he was sacrificing, and for what? So Damian could kick him in his sleep? What did _that_ accomplish?

“Okay,” he said, as he accepted the bottle of water Bruce handed him next, “but I’m not your kid, so you don’t have to—“ 

He cut himself off when Bruce looked down at him with a pained expression. 

Not mad, just… hurt. 

What had he said?

Bruce dropped down on the couch next to him and set the second blanket and water bottle beside himself, before finally saying, “You may not be my son, Tim, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve my attention.” 

That was quite literally what it meant to _not be his son._ Bruce didn’t owe him _anything._

And yet, he already paid a _ton_ of attention to him.He checked over his homework _every night._ And if they didn’t get to it, he was always sure to get it first thing in the morning, at breakfast. 

_And_ he ate breakfast and dinner with him, and they did game night or movie nights _all the time,_ not just on Saturdays. 

Really. Bruce spent _a lot_ of time with him. 

Tim didn’t even say anything, but his disagreement with the statement must have been written all over his face, because Bruce sighed again and said, “I’m responsible for you right now, Tim. I’m your caretaker, and that means you need my attention _just as much_ as the other kids. Yes, I’m their dad, but it’s really the role of _caretaker_ that does these sorts of things.”

“Like a nanny,” Tim asked. His nannies or Mrs. Mac were often called his ‘caretaker’ by everyone at school.

 _Alfred_ probably counted as a ‘caretaker,’ too. Although Tim kind of got the impression he was more like a grandfather to all the kids. He definitely acted like Bruce’s dad a lot. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, “Nannies perform that role, too.”

Great. So Bruce was his nanny, basically. That’s what he was saying. 

It didn’t change anything. 

“But I don’t _need_ attention in the middle of the night just because I had a bad dream,” he protested. Attention was nice, he had to admit, but he didn’t _need_ it. 

And if it was making Batman be tired and unable to be his best on patrol or even for things with the Justice League then Tim didn’t want to be responsible for it at all. 

Not at all. 

“How do you normally deal with bad dreams?” 

“I, uh…” Tim started. 

He… he _didn’t._

Or, obviously he did. Sort of. He tended to ignore they existed, if he could. But he didn’t, like, go seeking out someone else for comfort like Bruce was trying to convince him was the ‘right’ thing to do. 

Well. When he was little, he did. He’d had bad dreams pretty much as long as he could remember, and when he was little, like four or five, he’d have nightmares _all the time_ while Mom and Dad were home. Like, every single night. 

Mom had sat him down one morning and told him he was a big boy now, and he needed to learn how to go back to sleep on his own after a bad dream. 

_“They’re just dreams,”_ she’d said, _“they aren’t real. Just tell yourself that and you’ll feel better.”_

It hadn’t worked, but he _had_ learned to stop going waking Mom and Dad up. They didn’t sleep well with Tim in bed with them, either. Just like Bruce didn’t sleep well with Damian in his bed. And Mom and Dad had work. They _had_ to go to work, too, and be awake and everything for it, because it was what paid all the bills. If they couldn’t pay the bills, they’d be homeless, which was way worse than having bad dreams. They couldn’t sacrifice everything just because Tim couldn’t figure out his dreams.

 _Bruce_ had more than work, and yet he _still_ let Damian sleep in his bed. It made no sense. 

_None._

Although…. Damian was sleeping in his bed because he almost got kidnapped. Not because of bad dreams… Which was probably a valid reason.

Except. Bruce had said that was how Damian dealt with his bad dreams, too. By climbing into bed and sleeping there. 

“Tim?” Bruce said, his voice somehow both soft and gentle, and _super loud._

Tim jumped, and asked, “What?” 

“How do you normally deal with bad dreams?” he repeated. 

“Oh.” Right. “I, I dunno. Go back to sleep or get up and do something. Like watch TV or something.” 

_Or go through his most recent pictures and edit them._

Something about seeing Batman or Nightwing, the two he usually followed around, in action always calmed him down better than anything else could. 

Bruce shifted as he reached over to hit a button on the tv’s remote, to keep the TV from going into the sleep mode it said it was going into. “How often do you have bad dreams?”

With a shrug, Tim said, “Only sometimes.” They come and go, just like when he was little. Not as bad, but two in two weeks wasn’t _a lot._

“Do you want to talk about the one you had tonight,” Bruce asked.

“No,” he said quickly. He most certainly did _not_ want to tell Bruce about how he had a dream ninjas broke into _his_ house and tried to kidnap him, but he was all alone, so they succeeded and he got murdered. 

Would his parents even know he got kidnapped? That’s the thought that he’d woken up with, and why he’d started crying his stupid eyes out. Because they hadn’t texted him _at all_ yet. Not since they talked on the phone the _first day._

Was that how all their trips were going to be now? No texts or emails or calls or _anything?_

He knew they were mad at him, but if he were all alone still, they wouldn’t be ignoring him, right?

And if he told Bruce any of that, he would probably… well. Tim didn’t know what he would say or do, and he didn’t want to find out, either. He’d probably blame Mom and Dad, or something. Or talk more about _neglect,_ and Tim didn’t want to hear it. 

They knew he was safe with Bruce. That had to be why they weren’t talking to him, they knew he was safe and were giving him space to enjoy his time around a bunch of other kids. 

Tim sniffled, and _hated_ that his eyes had teared up a little. He scrubbed them clear with his sleeve and decidedly _didn’t_ look over at Bruce. Who was probably looking all pained again. Or trying to look comforting. Tim couldn’t handle either. 

“Okay, buddy, that’s okay,” Bruce said, after a second. He picked up the remote again and opened up the app that had all their movies on it and added, “Why don’t we pick out a movie.” 

“Sure,” Tim said, his voice sounding way too watery for his liking. He sniffed one more time, and took a deep breath before adding, much more evenly, “but I can’t miss school tomorrow.” 

That would bring on _way_ too many questions from his teacher. What if she did something drastic like call social services on Bruce? All because he missed three days of school in two weeks? And then they came, and found Cassandra, and Bruce got in trouble for having a kid in his house he didn’t have permission to have in his house?

“I would agree, unfortunately,” Bruce said with a sigh, “missing too much school isn’t a good idea. But if you do feel awful, we can call you out anyway. I’m sure they’ll understand.” 

They probably wouldn’t, Tim thought. But he didn’t want to argue. Instead, he let Bruce flip through the movies, and listened as Bruce offered options. 

“Anything’s fine,” he mumbled, after the fourth option Bruce presented. In the end, he chose _Wreck it Ralph,_ which Tim had never seen before. 

And they settled there, for a good ten or fifteen minutes, watching the movie in silence. Tim shifted around, some, and put his feet up on one of the ottomans so he was more comfortable, and let his mind get completely distracted by the movie. 

Or. Well. Sort of.

Because Bruce closed his eyes, fifteen minutes in and his head started to droop forward. It wasn’t until he jumped back awake did Tim say anything. 

“You can go to bed.” 

Bruce just sighed, as he sat up more on the couch, so he wasn’t so slouched. Clearly trying to make himself stay awake.

Which was dumb.

“I already feel better,” he said, “I can watch the movie by myself.” 

“What if I want to watch the movie with you?” Bruce asked, as he opened his water bottle. He took a sip, while Tim just stared at him. 

“You—“ he started, but wasn’t sure how to finish. Why _would_ Bruce? He was pretty sure Bruce _didn’t._ Clearly he didn’t, if he was already falling asleep, and he said he was tired. 

Obviously he was just saying that to try and make Tim feel better. Or… less guilty.

“It’s fine,” he tried, “Damian probably needs you more right now, anyway.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, with a sigh, “I’m sorry I can’t give you my undivided attention more. There are four of you and only one of me, but that doesn’t mean I should ignore you. Or can. Or _will.”_

 _“_ It—it’s not ignoring me,” he said lamely, because he wasn’t really sure how to react. 

How _did_ one react to Batman saying he wished he could spend _more_ time with him? 

He already spent _so much_ time with him as it was. 

And, and. Bruce was counting him as one of his kids?? 

Even though he’d already _said_ he was Tim’s ‘caretaker’ right now, he didn’t think Bruce would just… lump him in with his kids. 

“I _like_ spending time with you,” Bruce said a little defensively, “You’re such a great kid.” 

“But why…” Tim said, slowly, furrowing his brow harder. Bruce barely even _knew_ him. Had known him, like, not even three weeks.

Then again, how long had he known Cassandra? He clearly already _loved_ Cassandra. 

“For one,” Bruce said, like there were going to be _multiple_ points, “You’re very bright. You, at age nine, figured out I was Batman. That’s pretty darn impressive.” 

“It—oh,” Tim said. His cheeks flushed a little, as he added, “Anyone could figure it out.” His cheeks flushed _harder,_ he could feel it. Because he definitely shouldn’t have said _that_ to Batman. That was like, the worst insult ever. 

But Bruce didn’t get mad, like Tim expected, because Bruce _never_ got mad when Tim expected it.

“No, they can’t,” he said, instead, laughing a little, “Sure, all those pieces are there for ‘anyone’ to find, but that doesn’t mean they know they all fit into the same puzzle. If anyone could figure it out, everyone would have. But they haven’t.” 

“I guess…” Tim conceded. Although maybe lots of people knew, and were keeping it secret, just like Tim had kept it secret. Did Bruce ever think about that? 

Although, he probably didn’t want to think about that. People knowing his secret could be dangerous for his family. So it was best he _didn’t_ worry about it, since he couldn’t really control it anyway. 

“You’re also very kind,” Bruce said, after a moment, “The way you interact with Cassandra is incredible. She really likes you, you know?” 

He nodded, a little, as he suppressed a little smile. He had hoped so. He liked Cassandra. 

“The pictures you printed out for her were very sweet,” Bruce added, “she loved them.” 

Tim felt his cheeks heat up again, and despite his best efforts, he _couldn’t_ suppress his smile. He was glad she liked them. He wasn’t sure she would, or would care past when they actually took them. One of those things thats a novelty in the moment, but boring later, but if Bruce said she loved them, then she must have.

Bruce looked over and returned Tim’s smile and said, “You do things that like all the time. Small little gestures that absolutely make someone else’s day. Like whenever you join Alfred for afternoon tea, or show Jason new sci-fi shows to watch, or let him talk your ear off about whatever book he’s just finished. Or play a game with Damian, even if he’s wanting to play Connect Four over and over again.”

Bruce paid attention to all that…? Tim was just… he was just doing thing they wanted to do. Stuff that made them happy. He enjoyed it all, too. Even playing Connect Four over and over, because it usually ended in a draw, but when it didn’t, _that_ was really fun. 

“I care about you, Tim,” Bruce said, so softly Tim looked up to make sure he was actually hearing it right. “I care about your wellbeing and happiness, just as much as I care about my kids’.” 

_Their long-term happiness is more important than my short-term comfort,_ Bruce had said. And _Tim’s_ happiness was just as important and theirs. 

Which meant. Bruce— _Batman_ thought _Tim’s_ happiness was more important than _sleep._

“But,” he protested. He paused, to swallow down the overwhelming urge to just start crying, and finished, “But you have work tomorrow. And Batman. You _have_ to sleep.” None of that was less important than Tim. Tim _was fine._ He was totally and completely fine, he could watch the movie alone. 

“No, son,” Bruce said. He reached up and ran a hand through the back of Tim’s hair, but then paused and pulled his hand back. 

Tim shook his head, because he didn’t get what was happening.

With a sigh, Bruce said, “No. I don’t _have_ to do anything. And what I _want_ to do is watch this movie with you. Besides, you are far more important than work or Batman.” 

What??? 

_No,_ he wasn’t. He most certainly wasn’t. 

_He was more important than Batman?????_

Why, why— he didn’t get it. He still didn’t get why Bruce was _like that._ Why he was so… so… _nice._

Tim’s parents would _never_ do something like this with him, he knew. _They_ cared more about work than… than… 

_No._

That wasn’t true.

Was it? 

Tim’s hand shook as he grasped onto his blanket, and pulled it up a little higher, so he could cover his arms with it. He kind of wanted to hide under it completely. 

How could he think something so mean about his own parents? 

And, and. 

But… 

_Was it true?_

_“_ Tim,” Bruce whispered, setting his hand back down on top of Tim’s head. He flattened his hair back once, until Tim looked up at him. 

Whatever Bruce was going to say died on his lips, because he frowned harder when Tim finally made eye contact and asked, “Can I give you a hug?” 

The dams absolutely burst. Tim couldn’t hold it back anymore. He didn’t know what to think about _any_ of this, but he nodded several times because he really really _really_ wanted his mom to hug him and make everything better, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there, because, because…

She was _never_ there. 

Even when she was home, she _wasn’t there_ and Tim didn’t know why he’d turned back into such a baby because it was always _fine_ , but when Bruce wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, he couldn’t help but turn into his shirt and cry _harder_ as he wrapped his arms around Bruce.

Bruce’s hug was so strong. Big and strong and warm and _perfect._

Exactly how he always imagined Batman might hug. 

And holy shit. 

_Batman was hugging him._

That thought alone almost made him laugh, a hysteric little laugh. It did help him calm down, slightly. Just enough that Bruce squeezed him a little tighter and started talking to him again.

“You can always come to me, okay Tim? For any reason, no matter what I’m doing. You can come find me. I want you to be happy.” 

Tim nodded into Bruce’s shirt. He still didn’t get it, didn’t get why Bruce was _like that,_ but he agreed anyway. Because he had a feeling Bruce would keep finding him when he was upset, anyway, and forcing him to accept his attention. And maybe it would take up less of his time if Tim just went and found him himself… 

Right?

No, definitely not, but maybe it would be okay anyway? If it was what Bruce _wanted_ him to do.

So maybe he would actually tell Bruce, the next time he got upset…. 

Maybe. 

He’d have to see. 

For the time being, however, he’d let Bruce wrap an arm around him and watch the rest of the movie with him. 

Because Bruce’s hug was way better than crying himself back to sleep, he had to admit. It made him feel a ton better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce was like F THIS DISTANCE SHIT MY BABY NEEDS A HUG. I wasn't actually expecting that in this chapter, but here we are. 🥰
> 
> I went over 20k words for January with this chapter. :D I hope to get two more chapters out in the next week, but we'll see. I'm DYING to get back to Reclaiming Innocence, but I'm making myself do the work on this fic first. Maybe I can force it back onto my normal schedule after January, we'll see. There's so many chapters left. 🥺


	31. Cassandra

Cassandra really liked the new place. 

Sometimes, liking things wasn’t a good idea. _A lot_ of times, liking things wasn’t a good idea.

Her trainer took away things she liked when she didn’t do well. Or when she liked them too much. She always tried not to like things very much, or only like them in secret. 

But Bruce was her new trainer, and she wasn’t sure Bruce would do that. He gave the other ones like her things they liked all the time, sometimes just _because_ they liked them. Her old trainer never did that. Never ever gave her things _just because_ she liked them.

Bruce gave her things she liked, now, too. Like the lollipops. He wasn’t training her when he gave her those, but he still did it. Now he gives her blankets. Lots of blankets. None were as good as _her_ blanket she took, but they were very nice and she liked them all. Alfred gave her all sorts of things she liked, like food and her clothes. And Tim gave her things, too. Like the _cookies_ and the little pictures, and a better view of what he was doing, on the little screen in his hands. 

Tim sat on the soft long chair a lot while he used the little device, just like he was doing that afternoon. Every time Cassandra went and sat next to him, he smiled big and turned the screen to her. Cassandra liked watching him.

She didn’t fully understand what was happening, though, because the little creatures on the simulation looked nothing like people or missions, but Tim seemed to know what he was doing, and she thought he was doing pretty good. At least his body usually said happy good. Sometimes he said frustrated angry annoyed, but usually it was happy good. 

His body said excited curious, though, when he held the device out for her to take. 

Hesitantly, she took it from him and settled it down on her knees, just like he usually played, and tried to copy everything he did. She clicked on all the buttons, and figured out how to make the little person run back and forth, and jump up, but that was about as far as she went. What was the mission? It didn’t tell her, so she wasn’t sure where to go. 

Usually her trainer told her the mission, so she knew what she was doing. 

Tim didn’t get mad at her, though. He kept smiling, until his body said _more_ excited, and he took the device away in a rush. 

Bouncing over to the larger screen, hanging on the wall, Tim plugged the device in so it went up on the big screen instead. He skipped back over and grabbed her hand, pulling her up to her feet. 

“ _Controller,”_ he said, pointing at the little piece he’d pulled off the little screen. He showed her how to attach the _controller_ to her wrist, and how to hold it, while a whole new thing started to load on the large screen. 

They spent a couple minutes going through how to do the new simulation. Tim pointed at one of the people on the screen and repeated ‘Cassandra’ a few times, and _finally_ Cassandra felt like she understood something.

Her trainer made pretend hers on screens, too. Usually to show her what she had to do for her missions. So that was all this was. More training. 

She could handle more training. 

Especially if Bruce wasn’t there to watch them. Training _without_ her trainer there to watch was always easier and better. He could not correct her or punish her if he was not there. 

Tim showed her how to copy what the pretend-her was doing on the screen, by copying the pretend-Tim on the screen. Once he thought Cassandra understood enough, he started clicking through all the little boxes on the screen and started one up. 

At first, it was very easy. Very _very_ easy, and she didn’t understand the point. 

Bruce’s other little ones were very behind on their training, if this was normal training for them.

Although… she kind of already knew that. Jason was very behind on his training. Cassandra was a lot better than him, even though they were the same size. And she wasn’t even sure where Tim or Damian were, because she almost never saw them training. Damian sometimes practiced with Bruce, but not very often. 

This training was so easy, she could have done it when she was very little and barely off the ground. All it had her do was swing her arms around. Move her legs. Sometimes stop or jump or spin. 

It was a little fun, though. To just move around without hurting. 

The noises seemed to be in sync with their moving, too. All the beeps and crashes and _everything_ was fun, and made her want to bounce around a little more. When pretend-her started bouncing, Cassandra was absolutely _delighted._

Then, pretend-her and pretend-Tim started doing different moves. They spun around each other, and swung their arms in different directions. 

It was… it was almost like sparring, but without touching each other at all. Pretend sparring? When Cassandra was very little, she did pretend sparring a lot. Now, though, usually sparring meant landing blows and _lots_ of hurting, if she didn’t block well. 

This was… this was different. The pretend-thems weren’t fighting, either. They weren’t angry mean like everyone was during fighting. 

No. 

They were… happy graceful?

Cassandra decided she really liked the happy graceful. 

But then, way too quickly, the pretend-thems stop moving and the sounds quiet down until they stop completely. 

She didn’t want it to be over, she was enjoying it too much. When she looked over at Tim and frowned, however, he just smiled and asked, “More?” 

“More,” she agreed. She most definitely wanted to do _more._

That was a sound she liked knowing. It didn’t mean a _thing,_ like most of the sounds she knew. Which was weird, that a sound could mean something that wasn’t a _thing,_ but it was a very helpful sound because if she said it, they always gave her another thing. If she drink all her water and said ‘ _more’_ they gave her _more_ water. Or _more_ food. 

Or, now, if she said ‘ _more’_ after the pretend-thems stopped moving, Tim picked another simulation for them to do. “Dance,” he called it. They were doing _dance._

She liked _dance_ a lot more than fighting. 

Hopefully they got to train with _dance_ again. 

Some dances were faster than others, and some were harder. She really liked the hard ones, but Tim wasn’t very good at the hard ones. Bruce wasn’t around to see Tim not be good, though, so it was probably okay. 

She hadn’t seen Bruce punish for not being good, yet. Jason did things wrong a lot in his training, and got tired really fast. Whenever he got tired, he got annoyed angry defiant, and Bruce _still_ didn’t punish. When Jason got annoyed angry defiant, Bruce sent him to do something different. Something he _liked,_ like sitting in the room with the soft chairs while he looked at all the papers. 

She wasn’t sure what was great about the papers, but Tim looked at them sometimes, too. And Damian and Alfred and Bruce. Whenever Tim looked at them, and Cassandra was around, he started talking, too. But not _to_ her, and she rarely understood any of his sounds, but the sounds were rhythmic and soothing, so she always sat and listened. 

Did the papers have the sounds?

But she was glad Bruce didn’t punish when Jason got tired or annoyed angry defiant. Her old trainer punished harshly if she got tired or any one of annoyed angry defiant. She never showed any of those, because of it. 

Jason wasn’t scared at all, so Bruce probably never punished him for it. 

Which was why when Bruce walked in, during their fifth _dance,_ she didn’t get worried for Tim. He messed up a lot during that dance, but usually laughed when he did. Wasn’t scared at all. 

Even though there was another person with Bruce, watching too. 

It was someone Cassandra didn’t know. She could see the woman in the screen’s reflection, but it wasn’t Selina so Cassandra hadn’t met her yet. But because the dance wasn’t over yet, she didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to mess up in front of Bruce, even _if_ he wasn’t going to punish her for it. 

“Cassandra, Tim,” Bruce said, once the pretend-thems stopped moving, but before the sounds stopped, too. He kept saying more sounds, but Cassandra didn’t know them. 

She turned around and got a good look at the woman, while Bruce kept talking. She was wearing a tight skirt Cassandra was sure she couldn’t move in well. And very tall, pointy shoes, that would be very hard to fight in. Although she could probably use them as a weapon. 

Kicking someone in those would be interesting, actually. But maybe it would be too difficult to move in them for it to be worth it. Especially not when she could just have a knife. 

So this woman probably wasn’t someone who fought a lot. 

“ _Time Drake is…”_ Bruce said, to the woman. 

Cassandra didn’t understand what all the rest of the sounds were, but Tim moved his hand back and forth and said, “Hi,” to her. 

“ _And this is Cassandra,”_ Bruce said next. 

“Hi,” Cassandra said automatically. That was what Tim did, so it was probably what she was supposed to do, too. 

Apparently she was right, because Bruce smiled and his whole body said _happy proud,_ for a moment, while the woman smiled too.

The woman, however, said _concerned suspicious concerned,_ not happy, despite her smile. 

Bruce and the woman talked back and forth a few times, and Cassandra looked between them curiously. Bruce seemed almost… like he was deferring to the woman. Like. Was she Bruce’s trainer?

Sort of how the mean woman was her old trainer’s trainer. She gave him orders and missions. Did this woman give Bruce orders?

Alfred sometimes gave Bruce orders, Cassandra was pretty sure. 

But no, she probably wasn’t his trainer because Bruce wasn’t…. Wasn’t _obeying_ her. Just… deferring to her. Bruce _obeyed_ Alfred.

And Bruce seemed nervous, confident, helpful. Which was a strange combination of things. Nervous and confident. 

“Tim,” Bruce said, followed by a lot more sounds. He motioned for Tim to leave the room, though, so Tim turned to her and pat her on the shoulder before he walked away, leaving just Cassandra in the room with the two trainers. 

“Okay, Cassandra,” the woman said, as she walked further into the room and sat down on the soft chair. She pat at the spot next to her, saying something else Cassandra didn’t understand. 

But she _did_ understand she wanted Cassandra to sit with her, so she walked over and sat next to her. 

The woman kept looking at her expectantly, but Cassandra didn’t know what else she wanted. 

She wasn’t very clear with her orders, the way Bruce was a lot of the time. Sometimes he could be confusing, but he usually made it clearer if he _really_ wanted her to do it. 

Her old trainer was clear _all_ the time. 

Bruce and the woman talked more, until the woman got _irritated suspicious_ and sounded _mean._ Bruce held his hands up, and said _“Okay,”_ before he left the room.

Leaving Cassandra alone with the new trainer who turned into _fake happy, calm, gentle._

All fake. Fake fake fake. 

But not… not fake to hide mean. Not yet. 

Fake to hide…. More irritated. Irritated, suspicious, _concerned._

Cassandra swallowed and tried to figure out what the woman’s orders were, so she wouldn’t turn to mean to Cassandra, too. 

The woman talked for a little while, acting as if Cassandra could understand everything. Maybe that was the test? Was Cassandra supposed to understand everything by now? They’d been training her on the sounds, but she hadn’t learned them all yet, even though it had been many, many sleeps since they started training her. 

Maybe that’s who this woman was. The person who oversaw how Bruce trained his little ones, to make sure they were learning fast enough. 

She clearly wanted _something_ from Cassandra, so maybe that was it. 

Cassandra fidgeted in her chair, and frowned when the woman started feeling _sad,_ instead of _angry_ like she should be feeling, since Cassandra kept failing the test. 

If she hadn’t done what her old trainer wanted, or passed his tests, he would have punished her on the spot. Swift and harsh. Just thinking about it caused her cheek to throb with a phantom pain. 

But her new trainers weren’t anything like him. They did not strike her, not even this new woman. And this woman did not get _angry mean_ when Cassandra still did not figure out what her orders were.

“ _Okay, Cassandra_ ,” she said, after another minute. She reached out at pat at Cassandra’s knee, very gently, and added, “ _Thank you.”_

Which didn’t make sense, because Cassandra hadn’t given her anything, so she didn’t have to say _thank you._ Because that’s what _thank you_ was. A sound you made when someone gave you something. Like when Tim gave her the pictures, or Alfred gave her a treat.

But then the woman stood up, and she went to leave the room so Cassandra jumped up and followed. They walked through to the kitchen, where Bruce was sitting at the counter with Alfred, both of them drinking the hot drink Alfred liked a lot.

Bruce smiled at her when she walked in, looking _nervous happy,_ so she smiled back, trying her best to show him she was confused and needed help.

He always helped her when she told him she was confused. That was another thing she liked about him. He helped her instead of punish her. 

_“It’s okay, sweetheart,”_ he said. _Sweetheart_ was another sound for her. For _Cassandra._ But it didn’t matter if she was wearing a mask or not, like the difference between Batman and Bruce. What made her _sweetheart_ and what made her _Cassandra?_ She wasn’t sure.

Bruce got up and walked over to her, and wrapped an arm around her like he did sometimes. He did it with the other little ones, too, and Cassandra kind of liked it. Especially when he placed a hand on one of her arms and pulled her to his side. Even though it wasn’t the way he sometimes wrapped her up completely in his arms, she still liked it.

It was nice, how Bruce kept his arm around her while he talked to the woman. 

_Gentle nice loving_ was what he said when holding her or any of the other little ones he trained. He was often gentle nice loving to all of them, especially when they were sad or confused or scared. So she leaned her head against his side, and tried her best to listen to what the woman was saying.

After another minute, though, Bruce pat at her arm and let go so he and the woman could walk into the other room, with the table. They both sat at the table, one either side of the corner, so Cassandra went over to stand by Bruce’s side, away from the woman. 

She was pretty sure the woman was never going to get mad and punish her, but she also was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t let her, if she tried, too. Not if he was still being _gentle nice loving._ And he was, because when Cassandra stood at his side, he ran his hand over top of her hair, patting it down flat like he did sometimes. Just another one of the _gentle nice loving_ things. 

Bruce and the woman talked for a _long_ time, while they looked over a lot of papers. Sometimes Bruce marked on the papers, and sometimes the woman did. They didn’t talk to Cassandra at all, or tell her to do things. Which was fine, because Bruce sometimes wrapped his arm back around her, or smoothed down her hair, letting her stand in his shadow. Protecting her. 

Finally, Bruce and the woman seemed to _agree_ on something, but she didn’t know what. Bruce nodded, though, and turned to her as he said, “Tomorrow.”

 _Tomorrow_ meant after she slept again. They always said that to her, when they took something away and wouldn’t let her have it until she’d slept. _Tomorrow,_ was a promise she’d get it back. 

So what was she going to get back? 

Was she going to see the woman again, after she slept?

She kind of hoped not. Failing her test was okay that time, but that didn’t mean it’d always be okay.

Cassandra would much rather Bruce be the only one that trained her. She liked _Bruce._ Just Bruce. She didn’t want this woman, too.

\- - - 

“ _Good morning, Cassandra_ ,” Bruce said the next morning, when he came to get her from her sleeping place. Usually Alfred got her, and _he_ always said _good morning Cassandra,_ but Cassandra wasn’t upset it was Bruce this time. 

Bruce made her brush her teeth and put on new clothes, like she had to do every morning and night, before they went downstairs to eat. The food they ate was always different, but they _always_ ate right after she was allowed out of her sleeping place. The other little ones also came down at the same time and ate with them, although they were usually grumpy or loud or a whole bunch of other emotions in the morning. Which was just another thing Cassandra liked. The little ones were allowed to be grumpy or loud or tired or happy excited and nothing happened. 

After they ate, they did something very different. Usually the other little ones all got into Alfred’s car and they went on their missions. At least, Cassandra assumed they were going on missions. They always got into matching clothes and looked at papers with Bruce or Alfred before leaving. 

She didn’t know why she was never given missions, but they also didn’t trust her. So that was probably why. 

But that day after they ate, Bruce made Cassandra get dressed for going outside in the cold for a long time, and put her in his car. 

_Finally_ she was getting a mission. 

Maybe that’s what Bruce meant, when he said _tomorrow._ He meant she’d get her first mission _tomorrow._

Bruce’s car was a lot different from the car Nightwing brought her to the new training place in. 

The biggest difference was she didn’t get to sit next to Bruce, because Bruce made her sit in a seat behind him, on another smaller seat. She had to let Bruce restrain her, just like Nightwing had done with the same sort of restraint. It was just as ineffective as that one, too, because it didn’t prevent her from moving her arms or legs at all, and didn’t even keep her sitting back in the seat. And, all she had to do to unfasten it was press the red button. Nightwing had even showed her how.

When she pressed this one, however, Bruce grabbed her hand and said, “ _No.”_

His sound was, was _mean_ sounding. 

So mean it made her jolt, and look up at him. But his body wasn’t _mean angry_ at all. 

It was _concerned tired._ And maybe regretful?

He sighed, and took the restraint again and clicked it back into place. This time, Cassandra left it alone. 

She watched out the glass as they drove. Watched as the trees turned into buildings and other cars with people inside started to appear all around them and tried to figure out what kind of mission she’d be sent on. Usually her trainer gave her a lot more instruction before they left on a mission, but Bruce had given her almost none.

Eventually, there were tons of buildings and cars and lots of other people outside, and the car stopped, right next to lots of other stopped cars that had no people inside. 

Bruce opened her door, but then sighed when Cassandra just looked at him. He leaned inside and said something to her that included _Cassandra,_ but she didn’t recognize any of the other sounds. He pressed the red button on her restraint, and took her hand in his, gently pulling her out of the car. 

He kept a hold of her hand, even after he closed the door and started walking to the building they stopped at. Was he afraid she’d try to run away? Or wouldn’t follow? 

But looking up at him, Cassandra didn’t see _scared_ for what Cassandra might do. He was nervous, but she wasn’t sure what for. 

Then she saw the woman, in a car closer to the building. 

“ _Hi, Cassandra,”_ the woman said, once she got out of her car and Bruce finished pulling Cassandra over to her. The woman said more words, smiling down at Cassandra.

Unsure, but determined not to fail whatever test this was, Cassandra smiled back and said, “Hi.” 

Did the woman give missions? Why had they come to meet her, instead of her coming to the training place? 

Maybe the screens were in this building, and Bruce and the woman would show her her mission on the screens there, like her old trainer used to do on his screens, in her old training place. 

Inside the building are even more people. Lots of people Cassandra has never seen before, and just like the woman, Cassandra was confident none of them ever fought. Not even all the littles ones scattered about. 

None of them were paying any attention, or had even looked up to see her and Bruce and the woman. If they _were_ fighters, they were very bad ones. 

After Bruce and the woman talked with another woman and got some papers from her, they all went and sat down in the chairs with all the other people. 

Bruce pointed at the chairs, first, telling Cassandra to take a seat. When she did, Bruce sat on one side of her, while the woman sat on the other. 

And no one told her what her mission was. 

Instead, Bruce and the woman talked back and forth while the woman marked up the papers they got. Every once in a while they’d look down at her, but didn’t seem to _actually_ want anything from her. 

Which just made no sense.

What kind of training _anything_ was this? 

How was she supposed to pass the tests, or mission, or _whatever_ if she didn’t know what was going on?

After a while, when the woman and Bruce stopped talking, Bruce pulled out his little screen and started tapping on it, making the screen change between little tiny shapes with some pictures thrown in between them. 

It was curious. Looked almost like the papers Jason looked at a lot, and Tim sometimes. But when Bruce saw her staring at his screen, he tapped at it again and changed the display. 

He put the device in her hand, and showed her how to move little pieces around on it while he talked some. Low and soothingly in a way that made her relax, slightly. 

The pieces she had to move around looked like a picture, cut up into small little pieces. After Bruce showed her how to put the pieces together, he let go of the device entirely and let her do it herself. 

It was just another training thing that was _weird._ He always gave her weird training, but she didn’t _not_ like it. It was fun, seeing the picture come together. This one was of something that looked a lot like Ace, but wasn’t Ace. Just very similar. Maybe it had the same sound, though, so when she put it all together and the picture turned solid again she smiled and said, “Ace,” while pointing at it. 

Bruce smiled back and said, “ _Yes. Good job. Ace is a dog.”_ Then he tapped at the screen, making a bunch of new pictures show, all small. He dragged on the screen with his finger, showing that dragging it meant she could see _more_ pictures, and all she had to do was tap on one and the device would cut it up and Cassandra would have to put it back together. 

She looked at all the pictures, and picked one of a woman in pretty clothes standing on one of her tip toes, her arms gracefully up in the air and her other leg stretched out. 

It reminded her of the _dance_ she and Tim did. Maybe the woman was doing _dance_ too. 

“ _Ballerina,”_ Bruce said, when she picked it, so her sound must be _ballerina._

But that was a long sound, so she didn’t try to say it herself. Bruce didn’t make her look at him, or take the device away, or strike her, either, so he probably wasn’t trying to train her into saying it. Just letting her know it had a sound. 

That was just another thing she liked about him. 

Eventually, after Cassandra had put together the picture for the _ballerina,_ and the _balloons,_ and the _horse,_ another woman came into the room where they were sitting and said, “Cassandra.” 

The woman sitting next to her stood up and smiled at Cassandra, motioning for Cassandra to follow. Bruce tapped on her arm and held his hand like he was asking back for the device, so she handed it over, then got up to follow the woman. 

She walked a few steps, before she realized Bruce _wasn’t_ following, too. The woman was taking Cassandra away, out of the room, and Bruce _wasn’t coming._

“Bruce,” she said, hoping maybe saying his sound would make him change his mind and come, too. 

His body was saying regretful sad calm, but all he said was, “ _It’s okay, Cassandra.”_ He didn’t even try to get up and follow. Instead, he pointed back at the woman, motioning for Cassandra to follow. 

So, as reluctantly as she dared, not sure if these new people would punish her or not, she turned back around and started following the woman out of the room, with the new person who had called for her. She only looked back at Bruce once.

Bruce smiled at her, all sad, but he didn’t get up. His body was saying _stay here. Not move._ So she hoped she would be able to come back to him. 

If he wasn’t going to move, hopefully she could come back. 

She didn’t want another new trainer. 

Even if she wasn’t learning _a lot_ with Bruce. Just all the sounds. Outside of learning the sounds, all she was doing was sleeping and eating and, and. _Playing._ That was what Bruce said a lot. _Playing_ with Tim. Or Damian. Or sometimes Jason. 

Not much with Jason. Jason was mad she was there. 

But the trainings were always easy and fun. Except the sound trainings, but even those didn’t _hurt._ They were just boring, because Bruce would sit her down and make her say sounds over and over again, as he showed her things and made her remember new sounds. 

That was always boring, frustrating, exhausting in a way training never had been before. But it wasn’t _hurting,_ so she would rather do that than _anything_ she was doing at her old training place. 

But now the woman was taking her away. And while the one who called for her made her take off her shoes and stand up against the wall, so she could see how tall she was, all Cassandra could think about was how badly she didn’t want a new trainer. 

She wanted Bruce. Just Bruce. 

Hopefully the woman would bring her back to Bruce, just like she had the day before. 

She really didn’t want a different trainer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a beast to write. Cassandra's POV always is, just because I always feel like its so repetitive and boring and... idk hard to read just because of how limited her language is. It's really fun to try and convey what's going on around her through her eyes and thoughts, though. :D I hope it was obvious where she was in that last bit, and who 'the woman' was, but if it's not don't worry, I think the next chapter is from Bruce's POV and he will certainly clear it allllll up.


	32. Bruce

Bruce felt terrible having to make Cassandra go back to see the doctor without him.

It was part of the process— Cassandra needed a physical, and getting Bruce’s personal doctor wasn’t good enough for Gotham CPS.

Which was rich, coming from an agency that _still_ lost children to trafficking, sometimes, and stuck them into juvie _far_ too often. To draw the line at an initial physical to be done by _Leslie Thompkins_. He understood the sentiment, but it wasn’t necessary. Leslie would be first in line to testify against Bruce if he was abusing his kids. 

But if taking Cassandra to a doctor he had less than 24 hours to research ahead of time was what it took to make her permanent, it was a price he could pay. The doctor was clean, anyway. 

He just hadn’t anticipated Cassandra being so attached to him. Perhaps he should have caught on, when she’d outright asked him for comfort after the social worker attempted to interview her. But he’d just chalked that up to being highly confused by what was going on. 

Why did he think going to a clinic she’d never been to with someone she barely knew any different…

Sighing, Bruce rubbed at his face and leaned forward in his chair. He discretely pressed on the comm in his ear, as his hands passed over his ears, to activate the mic he’d hidden in Cassandra’s coat. It was sewn into the coat itself, so it would not be noticed if she was searched, for some reason.

He really hoped they didn’t search her. That could be nothing but terrifying for her. 

“ _Okay Cassandra, I’m just going to put this cuff on your arm…”_ the nurse was saying. Bruce tuned her out, and pulled his phone back out, content to idly listen while he started up on some research. 

Cassandra needed a lot of help, and it hadn’t occurred to him she could start learning through _games._ Tim had taught her a few games, and she’d seemed to enjoy them. Especially Just Dance. Never had Bruce seen her so _happy._

She smiled a lot, but never did she bounce around and seem to radiate joy like she had been playing that game. He’d have to make sure she knew how to start up the game herself, so she could play it whenever she wanted. He’d put ‘his’ switch in that dock permanently, just for her. 

But Just Dance wasn’t educational. It was fun, and a great way for her to be a child and bond with Tim, but it didn’t teach her language.

She’d caught onto the puzzles so quickly, it seemed _obvious_ to him now. Puzzles were a great way to teach her new words. Puzzles and probably dozens of other games she could play. 

_“The doctor will be with you soon,”_ the nurse said, followed by a closing door. 

“ _Sit up here,”_ Whitney, Cassandra’s social worker, said, “ _Up. Good girl.”_

At least Whitney seemed to _actually_ care about Cassandra. He’d talked with her in depth as Batman, explaining from where Cassandra came, vaguely, and why she didn’t know language. He’d also told her Bruce Wayne was his top pick because he ‘funded’ Batman. And he was familiar with the security at Wayne Manor, and was confident it was strong enough to protect Cassandra. 

Placing Cassandra with a normal foster family would result in a dead family, he’d told Whitney. 

It was perhaps the only reason she didn’t immediately remove Cassandra for CPS to conduct their full investigation. 

That, and the fact Bruce had fostered before. He maintained his license, just in case, and never had he been more glad for that. 

“ _Are you warm? We can take off your coat,_ ” Whitney said, and Bruce tuned them out again. Even if they did take her coat off, as long as it stayed in the room he’d hear everything they said. 

While he waited, he wanted to order Cassandra her own tablet. Opening up his web browser, he navigated to the Best Buy website and was happy to see he could order an iPad for pick up in ‘as soon as one hour.’ 

Maybe he could take Cassandra out to lunch, after her appointment. So far she’d been fine out in public, around other people. Maybe she would be fine going to a restaurant? If she really couldn’t handle it, he could easily take her home and drop her off with Alfred, or even send Alfred out to pick the order up.

But he didn’t anticipate her causing any problems. 

She’d probably enjoy the time, actually. He hoped. The other kids _loved_ it when Bruce brought them out, one-on-one. It was a good way to make up with them, too, when they were mad at him. For leaving for a Justice League thing, or any number of things that often got between him and his kids. And this time, CPS had got between him and Cassandra. 

He felt _terrible_ making her go back alone, now that he knew how much she trusted him for safety. 

Not that it had been his choice, not going with her…

It was part of the deal. Part of their safety protocols. That Bruce was fairly certain they’d made up on the spot, when trying to figure out how to place such an abused child with the person who found her. 

Bruce was glad to see they _had_ stepped up their safety protocols, at least a little. When he’d brought Jason home, all he’d had to do was basically inform CPS he’d found a runaway foster kid and was keeping him, and they’d just shrugged. 

_“Hi Cassandra, I’m Doctor Fernandez,”_ Bruce heard, as he kept looking through the Best Buy website for things to get Cassandra. Her own headphones was probably a good idea, so her games didn’t drive everyone up the wall. 

“ _Hi,”_ Cassandra responded. Her voice sounded unsure, but not scared. Not at the moment. Bruce shifted to rest his head down onto his free hand, to hide the ghost of a smile that had formed. 

He was so impressed by how quickly she was picking up some of the more abstract concepts. Saying _thank you_ when given something. Replying with _hi_ when greeted. He’d assumed it would take weeks, if not _months_ longer to teach her those sorts of things. But of course not. Because Cassandra was a very intelligent little girl. 

_“How are you feeling today?”_ Doctor Fernandez said, _“I see we’re doing a physical.”_

The social worker and the doctor exchanged chit chat, talking about Cassandra and exactly how much they thought she understood while the doctor checked her eyes and ears. While Bruce knew she likely didn’t understand the majority of their words, she was probably pretty in tune with what their _actions_ were. Which was why she seemed to look exactly where the doctor wanted her to, for her eye exam. 

He should definitely get a case for the iPad, too, he thought, as he saw one pop up in the suggested products. Her own Nintendo wouldn’t hurt, either, but when he navigating to the gaming section, he saw Best Buy was out of stock. He could just order one for delivery, but it wasn’t necessary. He never played ‘ _his’_ anyway. Maybe once she understood stuff a little more, he’d let her pick one out herself. Color and design and all that.

“ _Isn’t her leg supposed to move?_ ” Whitney said, drawing Bruce’s attention back to the check up. Were they doing a reflex test?

“ _Yes,”_ Doctor Fernandez replied, “ _Cassandra, you need to relax your muscles.”_

Whitney echoed Bruce’s exact thoughts when she asked, _“She’s holding her legs still?”_

Cassandra could be remarkably still, when she wanted. It was a little nerve-wracking, actually. Considering she was a little child. Not even Dick had learned to be _that_ still, even through his Robin training. Bringing Robin on stakeout missions was not something he was able to do much, in the early years. 

Children were like that. Fidgety. The fact Cassandra _wasn’t_ was…. Something. 

Maybe he should get her that switch, and set it up in her room. If only so she could play some of the motion games herself, whenever she wanted… He was concerned she got bored, when waiting for someone to get her up in the morning. 

The iPad could fix that, too, though. 

“ _Okay, Cassandra, I need to listen to you breathe now,”_ the doctor said, _“so I’m going to lift up your shirt._ ” 

Considering he didn’t hear a scuffle, Cassandra had apparently not objected to her shirt being lifted. Bruce couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. 

Hopefully she’d just seen doctors before, and knew this was part of the procedures… 

_“Breathe with me,”_ the doctor said, mimicking a deep, noisy breath. Considering a second later he said, “ _Good job,”_ Cassandra must have caught on pretty easy. 

The doctor praised her a few more times, before he said, in an almost hushed tone, “ _What…?_ ”

“ _What?_ ” Whitney asked, and Bruce heard her chair scrape a little, as she likely stood up, “ _What is that?_ ” 

“ _It’s— It’s a gunshot wound.”_

A gunshot wound? Where had they found…

 _“An old one, too,”_ the doctor continued, _“See how it’s stretched, with her growth?”_

 _“Cassandra,”_ Whitney said, once again echoing Bruce’s thought, “ _Who shot you?_ ”

Although Bruce already knew the answer to that. Who _else_ would have shot her?

Why the _fuck_ did David Cain _shoot_ his own daughter?

“ _I see at least seven, just on her sides,”_ Doctor Fernandez said, and Bruce felt mildly sick. 

He’d never… looked. Looked to see what kinds of scars she had. Her face was remarkably free from them, if her torso had _seven_ gunshot wounds… And since Cassandra knew how to handle her own hygiene, Bruce had had no reason to look. 

“ _No wonder Batman got you away,_ ” Whitney said. 

Batman should have gotten her away much sooner. 

Much, much sooner. 

Logically, he knew there was no reason for him to know about her sooner. He _knew_ that. 

But… it didn’t stop the thought that had he just _looked…_

Had he looked. He could have saved such a sweet little girl from—from. From being _shot._

Why the _fuck_ would Cain shoot his daughter? 

Bruce had to sit back, and focus on keeping his breathing under control. The lobby wasn’t packed, or anything, but there were two mothers there with their young children. The last thing anyone needed was Bruce Wayne to get mad with rage. Right in the middle of a lobby. While he was trying to convince Social Services to let him care for another abuse victim. 

Or any child. Since no one knew he was listening in on the doctor’s appointment, which was, admittedly, a HIPPA violation… 

“ _It’s okay, honey,_ ” Whitney said, and Bruce kind of hoped she was hugging Cassandra. Bruce kind of wanted to just hug her, himself. Hug her and try to show her how people were supposed to treat her. How _parents_ were supposed to treat her, because Bruce was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure he could call himself that. 

He couldn’t imagine what Cassandra was reading off the situation, too. If Cain had inflicted those wounds as some sort of sick punishment, or even sicker training regimen, how did Cassandra view them? What was she interpreting their reactions to mean?

“ _Do you see any signs of recent abuse?_ ”

“ _How recent?_ ” the doctor responded, and Bruce tried not to feel personally insulted. 

“ _The last few weeks. The timeline Batman gave us was three weeks since she was found, and she’s been with Bruce Wayne for about a week._ ” 

She’d been with Bruce for a week and four days, at that point, but he supposed it was irrelevant. They weren’t going to find any signs of abuse, because no one in the house was harming her. 

No one in the family would _ever_ do such a thing, and he had a feeling he’d have to talk a couple people down, once they found out _she’d been shot._

“ _No_ ,” Doctor Fernandez said, “ _she doesn’t have any bruises except for a couple very, very faint ones, and even those aren’t unusual for children. A few of these scars are relatively new, the skin is still red. See this one? This is new skin, but it’s probably been fully healed at least a month. Some of these pink ones are slightly older, but not likely more than six months old._ ”

“ _But nothing from the past few weeks?_ ”

“ _No,”_ the doctor agreed. 

Which was good, he supposed. 

The check up continued on, and eventually led to a blood draw. That was another moment he had to focus on his own breathing and heart rate, just to stay visibly calm. Or even, visibly bored, as a billionaire forced to sit in a waiting room alone should be feeling. 

He _hated_ that he wasn’t allowed to be there, while she had something as scary as a blood draw happen. 

Then again, not all children were afraid of needles. Dick had always taken shots and blood draws in stride, and even joked his way through them with the nurses. Damian was hit or miss, but never threw a fit over them. 

Jason, on the other hand…

The first time he got shots, Bruce had had to physically restrain him. 

Cassandra, it seemed, wasn’t fazed by the experience, which was another win. But he knew that her being still and quiet didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t terrified. 

In fact, if she was terrified, she was likely sitting still and quiet… 

Bruce leaned back forward in his chair, and rubbed at his face. He definitely needed to take her out to lunch. He’d already placed the order at Best Buy, and would be able to pick it up ‘soon.’ Apparently he’d receive an email when the order was ready. 

He opened the maps app on his phone, and started looking around at restaurants near Best Buy. Somewhere nice was most likely out of the question. Cassandra was… a work in progress. When it came to eating at the table. She sat at the table fine, and everything. But when it came to using utensils… it was hit or miss. If the food was solid enough to pick up, she did. Didn’t matter what it was. Salad. Meat. Veggies. If she could use her hands, that was her preferred method. She knew _how_ to use a fork, which was great. She just didn’t seem to prefer it… 

So. A work in progress. 

They also needed to work on the speed at which she ate…

Nice restaurants were certainly out of the question. But he could get by with bringing her someplace like Burger King. Or Wendy’s. Bruce kind of preferred Wendy’s, so maybe they’d go there. 

“ _You did so good, Cassandra,”_ Whitney said, after a long silence had stretched, “ _I’m so proud of you. Are you ready to go see Bruce?”_

 _“Bruce,”_ Cassandra repeated, the first word she’d said since her initial _“hi,”_ and once again, Bruce had to hide his smile. 

“ _Yes, Bruce. Do you want Bruce?”_

_“Bruce,”_ Cassandra said again. 

Bruce wasn’t quite sure if she yet knew what ‘do you want’ meant, but it was a phrase they used with her quite often when offering her things. So it was very possible she _understood_ what Whitney had asked her. 

And even if she hadn't, Whitney clearly took it as an agreement, because she said, with a smile in her voice, “ _Okay, let’s go see Bruce_.”

He tried not to watch the door, as he waited for them to come back around. Whitney stopped at the desk before the door, and chatted with the woman there while she made sure all the state’s insurance information was correct for Cassandra. 

Another thing Bruce had to allow. The state of New Jersey to cover the appointment. He saw no reason for that to happen, since he was perfectly capable of paying for it himself, but he was trying not to be difficult. 

Because apparently offering to pay for things was _being difficult._

But finally, after another minute passed, the door to the lobby opened, and Whitney ushered Cassandra through it. 

And she absolutely _lit up_ when she saw Bruce. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said, returning her smile as she bounced over to him, getting close enough so he could wrap an arm around her, “that wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

Whitney smiled, slightly, as she walked over to Bruce and handed him Cassandra’s coat. “She did quite well. We had some bloodwork done just to make sure everything’s okay. The doctor also wants to start giving her shots soon, but decided the blood draw was enough needles for today.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bruce said, nodding. He let go of Cassandra and opened her coat to help her put it on. 

Cassandra blinked at him, but then put her arms into the sleeves and smiled brightly as Bruce pulled it snug and zipped it up. 

“I have some papers for you in my car,” Whitney said, motioning for them to follow her outside. 

Bruce suspected she wanted to tell him about the… scars. But not in front of the other parents. 

“Okay,” he said, as he stood up. He grabbed his and Cassandra’s hats from the chair next to him, and as they walked, put Cassandra’s on her head. 

She looked up at him, and put a hand up on her hat and Bruce could _swear_ she was asking him a question.

He wasn’t sure if it was _why did you put this on me,_ or _what is this called,_ so he answered the only one he could and said, “Hat.” He opened up his own hat and repeated the word, as he put it on his own head.

“Hat,” she repeated, patting at her hat a couple times. 

Whitney opened the door for them, and let them walk through before her as she said, “She’s such a bright child. She’s picking up on everything so quickly.” 

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, “She amazes me everyday.”

“It’s also impressive, considering…” Whitney started, but stopped to sigh. She got to her car and unlocked it, and actually _did_ retrieve a file with papers inside. She held the folder in one hand and clapped it against her free hand a few times before she finally continued, “Do you know much about her past?”

“Not really,” he admitted. Which was true. Even if he knew a bit _more_ than he led on. “Just what Batman figured out.” 

Cassandra scooted herself a little closer to him, and looked up at him. The apprehensive look she gave him… 

She thought Bruce was about to make her go with Whitney, didn’t she?

“Before I reassure her, are you letting her come home with me?” he asked, before Whitney could voice whatever she had been about to say.

“Oh,” she said, looking down at Cassandra a little startled, “Yes. That was the plan, I have no objections to the placement.” 

“Thank you,” he said, as he placed a hand on her back and knelt down to her height, “It’s okay, Cassandra. You’re coming home with me.” He rubbed a few circles into her back before she leaned forward, just slightly. 

She’d never asked for a hug more clearly than that. So Bruce gladly wrapped an arm fully around her and dragged her close, giving her a quick kiss on the side of the head as he did. 

“I know, sweetheart, everything’s scary right now, but I promise it’s going to be okay.” 

Whitney smiled sadly as she watched for a second, then said, in a hushed tone, “We found evidence of some pretty horrific abuse. Have you seen the scars on her sides?” 

“No,” Bruce answered honestly, “She thankfully knows how to dress herself, so none of us have had any reason.” 

“That’s what I figured,” Whitney sighed, “Because I’m sure one of you would have told me…”

“Told you?” Bruce prompted. Cassandra wiggled in his hold, a little, but not in a way that said _let go of me._ So Bruce wrapped his other arm around her and pet at her hair as she melted into the hug further. 

Closing her eyes, Whitney took a deep breath and finally said, “the doctor found a dozen healed gunshot wounds on her. It looks like someone used her for target practice.” 

_A dozen._

Bruce hadn’t heard _that._

“Oh, Cassy,” he whispered, tightening his hold a little more. Cassandra readjusted her head, then wrapped her own arms back around his chest. 

“Yeah,” Whitney said, after a moment had passed and Cassandra finally pulled away slightly, just enough to let Bruce know to let go, “so we’re going to write up a plan for her care. She’ll need therapy. She needs developmental therapy as well. Speech therapy… Just. A lot of therapy.” 

“I agree with all that,” Bruce said, as he stood back to his feet, “I’ve actually been researching some of that myself, and have found a few phenomenal speech therapists, if the state will let me hire my own.” 

“That’s fine, she’ll need to learn to communicate before counseling will help anyway, but the state won’t pay for private—“

“That’s fine,” Bruce cut it, “I can afford it.” And he’d much rather hire one of the best, rather than whoever the state had on hand, already.

Not that he doubted their people weren’t capable, he just knew none of them would be able to dedicate enough time to Cassandra. Bruce’s goal was to find someone to work with Cassandra _every day._ Like a private tutor, almost. 

The state most certainly would not be able to afford or provide something like that. 

“Okay,” Whitney said, plastering on a smile again, “Then we’ll be in touch. I want to schedule a check in next week, and we can discuss the schedule from there. I’ll also bring the care plan with me and we can review it. This here,” she added, as she passed the papers to Bruce, “are your copies of the placement documents we signed.” 

“Great,” he said, as he took the folder with the hand not resting on Cassandra’s shoulder, “And will I be allowed to petition for adoption anytime soon?”

“That will be up to the judge,” Whitney said, although she didn’t look too surprised by the question, “I’ll file for a court date soon, once I have all the paperwork together. The doctor thinks she’s somewhere between late ten and early eleven, so we either need to figure out where she came from and what her birthdate is, or just pick a date. The judge will have to decide if the United States is giving her citizenship.” 

“You don’t think she’s already an American citizen?” Bruce had kind of hoped they’d just assume she was one, and move on from there. Or not even care in the first place, since Bruce adopting her would grant her the citizenship, regardless.

“Batman seems to think she’s from an international organization,” Whitney said, “but I assume he told you that.”

Bruce nodded. He’d told them Cassandra was from an international _terrorist_ organization, but a lot of their members were Americans. David Cain was an American, after all…

Maybe _Batman_ should get in touch with Whitney again and explain who her father was. 

He would shed no tears if a warrant was placed for David Cain’s arrest. 

Actually, it would be _hilarious_ if he got picked up somewhere overseas and the U.S. extradited him over child abuse charges. 

Shooting a little girl a dozen times would certainly warrant that. 

“There’s really no way for us to tell, but my guess is a judge isn’t going to object to giving an eleven-year-old with such a horrific past of abuse asylum. Likely we’ll just issue her a backdated birth certificate and call it done. We honestly have no proof she’s _not_ from the U.S., after all.”

Bruce nodded. That was what he assumed would happen. He wished there was more of a way to _ensure_ it would happen, but that was the cost of forcing Gotham CPS to get their shit together. 

“And then?” he asked.

“And then we can discuss adoption,” Whitney said with a smile, “If the foster placement goes well, and she continues adjusting well, then I will have no objections to it. Jason seems to have adjusted quite well, based off his file. If Cassandra does just as well, then I doubt you’ll have any problems getting an adoption approved.”

“Okay, thank you,” he said, smiling a little as he squeezed Cassandra’s shoulder. That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

The mere thought of Cassandra being taken away and tossed into the system… he was glad CPS was going along with everything. The last thing Cassandra needed was her world being upended _again._

“Thank _you,_ Mr. Wayne,” Whitney said, “You’re doing great. I’m very happy to see her melding with your family so well.” 

Bruce was happy to see that, too. 

After they exchanged pleasantries and bid each other goodbye, Bruce took Cassandra’s hand and led her back across the parking lot. 

It took Cassandra a second, but she seemed to realize they were leaving Whitney behind, because she looked up at Bruce and grinned widely. 

All he did was squeeze her hand in response and ask, “Are you hungry?” 

“Eat?” she asked, just making Bruce’s pride in her grow. 

Of course she’d connected the question _are you hungry_ with the concept of _eating._

“Yes, do you want to eat?” 

“Eat,” she agreed, nodding her head slightly as she did. 

This little girl would never cease to amaze him, he was sure. The progress she was making, _without_ professional help… 

“You’re one amazing kid,” he said, as he opened her car door and motioned for her to get in. 

She did, and even sat down in her booster seat and buckled herself in. 

“I’m so glad that you’re mine.” 

Cassandra smiled again, at whatever it was she saw in him, and it just made him melt a little further. 

“Eat?” Cassandra asked, when Bruce just stood there. 

He shook himself of everything, and offered her a smile as he said, “Okay, let’s go eat.” 

If having Damian had made him soft, he just knew having a daughter would make it so much worse. 

But it wasn’t a bad worse. 

Not in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No proofing we die like mne" aka ill proof it later. 
> 
> This was supposed to be the last chapter of this crazy January where I wrote 30k words (I actually hit 32885 with this chapter) but THIS chapter actually got split in two because THIS is only HALF of the planned chapter. And it's over 4k words. It's well over 4k words. Which is great, it means my head is really in this story right now and that makes me excited, but it also makes me sad cause I really want to write more on Reclaiming Innocence 😂. But I'm gonna try to get the next chapter of this up this weekend. We'll see if I can keep the momentum and get it done. 
> 
> But thanks for reading and commenting and everything. ❤️ you guys.


	33. Bruce

Cassandra sat quietly on the drive back to Bristol. It wasn’t strange for Cassandra to be quiet, of course, but Bruce just wished he could know what she was thinking, as she stared out the windows and watched the cars they passed. 

When Bruce parked in the Wendy’s parking lot, Cassandra perked up a little in her seat, but stayed buckled in, even after Bruce had got out and opened her door. 

“You just have to keep it buckled while we’re driving,” Bruce said, trying not to sigh as he leaned in and unfastened it for her. He definitely should not have snapped at her, when she unfastened it herself. Obviously doing so would scare her. 

_Obviously._

He should have seen that coming. It was just a habit, from when Damian was little. Say it in a mean enough tone they took it seriously, even though there was no real threat behind the words. Just authority. 

But he should have known better. After raising Jason for over a year, it was the obvious reaction. A mean voice with Jason early on had caused panic, so Bruce had quit using it on him entirely. Jason might react better, now, and would likely even given Bruce attitude over it. Back talk and mock him, ‘ _what are you gonna do, glare at me?’_ But Bruce wasn’t going to try. 

And he shouldn’t have tried on Cassandra. 

Even if it worked. 

There was no telling what conclusions she jumped to… 

Or, there was telling. If David Cain had fucking _shot her._

Cassandra smiled at him, and reached out for his hand as she hopped down out of the car. So Bruce took her hand and squeezed it, leading her into the restaurant while he focused on his breathing.

He supposed she was too old to need hand holding, and would probably follow him just fine if he didn’t, but it did ease his anxiety a little. It wasn’t like he could tell her to ‘come on,’ and she’d actually do it. 

She seemed perfectly happy, holding his hand, too. Which was just another blessing. Damian would throw a fit if Bruce tried to force him to hold his hand. But, then again, he’d never been one to willingly let Bruce lead him around. 

Plus. He wasn’t quite sure he knew how to handle it, if she ran off on him. She was quite slippery. And _fast,_ if their first couple weeks knowing her was any indication. It was unlikely she would run off, if she did like living with him as much as he _hoped_ she did. But there was no way he could be sure… 

They waited in line for a couple minutes, while Bruce went over the menu. Cassandra pretty much ate anything they put in front of her, but with her aversion to using proper utensils, he decided to keep it _very_ simple. No chili or baked potato for her. Or him… since he didn’t want to make her think he was withholding food from her. 

So when it was finally their turn to order, Bruce got her a chicken nugget kids meal, and himself a ten piece meal, with an extra box of nuggets and fries on the side. Just in case the kids meal wasn’t enough to fill Cassandra up. 

Bruce fumbled a little, while trying to pull his credit card out of his wallet, with one hand, but was able to balance the wallet on the counter and pull the card out. The entire time she stood next to him, perfectly still, her wide brown eyes watching him carefully.

As if she had no idea what was going on or what she was supposed to be doing. He squeezed her hand, slightly, and asked the cashier, “Actually, could I add a couple cookies to that order?”

“Sure,” the girl said brightly, tapping away at her computer, “chocolate chip or sugar?” 

“How about one of each,” he said, since he had no idea which Cassandra preferred. They’d had cookies a couple times since she’d come to live with them, but she hadn’t showed any sort of preference. Plus, Alfred hadn’t made sugar cookies, yet. So at least one of the cookies would be a new thing to her. 

“22.19 is your new total,” the cashier said, finally, “you can insert your card now.” 

It took a bit more fumbling, but Bruce was able to pay and put his card back into his wallet without letting go of Cassandra’s hand. The cashier handed him his receipt and their cups with a chipper, “Your order will be right out, Bruce,” her face turning a bright red as she did. 

Bruce just smiled. He’d given her his name ‘for the order,’ and she’d seemed a little flustered when he gave his first name. 

What _else_ should he have said? 

At the drink fountain, Bruce finally let go of Cassandra’s hand in order to operate the machine. He flipped through the options, and settled on fruit punch for Cassandra. Damian loved fruit punch. Jason usually went for Dr. Pepper, but it was probably best to try the non-caffeinated drinks first. 

He filled the cup with just enough for a sip or two, and handed it to Cassandra to taste. She took it, with both hands, and looked down at the bright red liquid before back up at him. 

“Drink it,” he said, motioning with his hand for her to tip the cup up. 

She caught on, after a second, and downed the drink quickly. When done, she looked down into the empty cup and back up at Bruce, her lip tinged slightly red from some of the juice, and said a little uncertainly, “More.” 

“Yes, okay,” Bruce said, smiling as he took her cup back and put a little ice in it, then filled it all the way up with fruit punch. If she was asking for more it must have meant she liked it.

Or was just thirsty. 

Once he had a lid and straw on the cup, he handed it back and went about filling his own cup with iced tea, keeping one eye on Cassandra. 

But of course she didn’t stray. She stayed standing right at Bruce’s side, both her hands holding her cup as she sipped away at the fruit punch. 

Just as he got his own straw in his drink, someone up at the counter called out, “Bruce,” so he picked up his cup and gently tugged at Cassandra’s coat to get her to follow. 

To Bruce’s relief, Cassandra followed obediently as he picked up their food and found a table, in the very back of the restaurant, out of the way of everyone else. 

He set their tray of food down on the table and slipped his coat off, draping it over his chair. “Take your coat off,” he said, pointing at her coat. 

She looked down at her coat, placing both hands on it, before she absolutely _lit up_ and scrambled to get her coat off. She placed hers on the back of her chair, too, and took a seat as Bruce laid out her food. 

Bruce took a second to look at her toy, before he set it down, out of her reach. He always made Damian finish his food before opening the toy, so it was probably on fair he did the same to Cassandra. She didn’t seem to care, however, because as soon as the food was sitting in front of her, she started absolutely devouring it. 

By the time Bruce had his own food out and one of the sauces open, she’d finished off everything and was asking, “More.” 

She _always_ asked more, when she finished eating. Bruce often wondered if she was _actually_ hungry, or just asking for more to see if she’d get it. 

“More what?” he asked. He’d set the extra chicken and thing of fries in the middle of the table, and pointed to each one as he said, “More chicken, or more fries?” 

Cassandra looked at him intently, so he repeated the choices a couple more times, pointing at each of them as he said their name. 

Finally, Cassandra said, “More shiken.” 

“Good job,” Bruce said, as he picked up a few chicken nuggets and placed them on her napkin plate. Before she could eat one, though, he set the barbecue sauce down in front of her and demonstrated dipping his own chicken in it. 

She cocked her head as she watched, then picked up her own nugget and followed suit. The wide smile she made was enough to keep Bruce going for weeks.

It was so nice to see her relax, and simply _enjoy_ the moment, for once. Especially after her stressful morning. 

Cassandra immediately dipped her nugget back into the sauce, after she took a bite out of it, so Bruce decided to just let her have it. He opened up one of the honey mustard sauces, and set it down in front of him. After dipping one of his nuggets into it, Cassandra shifted so she was sitting on her knees, and reached over to dip her nugget into the new sauce, as well. 

Bruce was too amused to be annoyed. Especially when Cassandra’s eyes widened, and she picked up the sauce and tried to put as much as she could on her final nugget. 

“Mustard,” he said, as he pulled out another packet of it and opened it, this time keeping it in his hand for himself. He watched in amusement as Cassandra tried to say the new word, through a mouthful of food. 

“More,” she said again, after swallowing the last bite of food dramatically and smacking her lips. 

“More what?” he promoted, trying not to laugh. He’d barely finished _one_ nugget so far. 

“More,” Cassandra said, then pointed at the french fries and looked up at Bruce, both her eyebrows raised as if asking ‘ _what is this, again?’_

“Fries,” he answered.

“More ryes,” she said, with a curt nod. Before Bruce could even reach out, however, she picked up a handful of the fries and set it down on her own napkin. 

Cassandra froze, then, with her hand still hovering over her newly acquired fries, and cut her eyes up at Bruce quickly, before looking away again. 

He could only imagine what hells she’d been through, to make serving herself seconds something so anxiety inducing. _She probably was seeing if she_ could _have more,_ he thought bitterly, even as he tried to even out all his expressions. 

Slowly, Bruce reached out and took a fry from the bag in the middle, and dipped it in his own honey mustard. “Try it with mustard,” he said, as he ate the fry. 

A little jerkily, Cassandra picked up one of her fries and dipped it in her mustard, then robotically started chewing on it. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce said softly, as he continued eating, trying to act exactly as he had been before. 

But Cassandra continued holding herself extremely still, as she continued to eat her fries, one at a time. Her hand didn’t shake, but based on how stiffly she was moving, that was because she was very carefully controlling it. 

“Cassandra,” he said, softly, earning her attention immediately, “I love you, sweetheart.” Reaching out, he gently pat at her arm and said, “Bruce, kind, Cassandra.” 

With too wide eyes, Cassandra stared down at his hand, then carefully put her hand on top of his. “Kind,” she whispered. 

“Yes, so eat your fries,” he said, picking up a few more fries from his bag and putting them on her pile. 

With a tiny smile, Cassandra dropped her shoulders and dipped a fry into her mustard. 

They ate in silence after that. Not that Cassandra was ever _chatty,_ but it felt much more tense, even as Cassandra continued to relax, slowly working through her fries. 

Finally, she finished off her last one just as Bruce was eating his last nugget, the fries already long gone. “More,” she said, her voice uncertain again.

But Bruce had to say, “No more,” as he tipped the empty fry bag upside down, “all gone.” 

“No more,” Cassandra mumbled, staring at the empty bag. 

Bruce pulled her toy out, which was a little container of knock-off play-dough with a little tool to roll the dough out flat. It came with some sort of play mat, too, instructing the child to ‘ _roll the dough to make a cloud.’_

He opened it up and handed her the glob of dough, and showed her to squish it and use the roller on it, then let her have at it while he started cleaning up. She stared at the dough for a moment, then started to manipulate it. She didn’t make anything in particular, but rather pinched and poked it, exploring the texture of it. 

That was yet another thing she’d need to learn: How to play with toys.

While putting the trash into the bag, he saw the cookies he’d forgotten all about, and pulled them out. Cassandra looked up immediately, her eyes locked on the cookies for a second, before looking at Bruce. 

“Would you like one?” he asked, holding the chocolate chip one out to her. 

“‘Oo-ee,” she mumbled, as she accepted it and took a huge bite out of it. 

“Cookie,” Bruce confirmed as he stood and said, “You stay here. Stay.” He felt like an asshole, holding his hand out like he would to Ace, but Cassandra stayed seated as he took their trash across the dining room and to the trashcan. Her eyes never left him, but she did continue eating her cookie. 

He sat with her for another ten minutes, letting her eat both the cookies and explore the play-dough more. She never got to the point where she was creating things with it, but she did squish it around and roll it out, at Bruce’s prompting. 

It was definitely something they could work on. Play time. 

Once he got her a developmental therapist, he had a feeling play time would be a structured thing they engaged in, anyway. 

When she seemed overly bored of the dough, Bruce helped her clean it up and slipped it into his coat pocket, prompting her to put her own coat on so they could leave. 

“Let’s go,” he said, motioning for her to follow. He didn’t hold her hand, this time, just to test her out. See how she’d respond, since she’d followed him _to_ the table just fine. 

And she did, of course. She was quite the obedient little girl… just _another_ thing that actually killed him inside. A little. Even Jason had never been _that_ obedient, back when he’d been convinced Bruce would kick him out or just beat him, if he slipped up. 

But she followed fine, and didn’t seem to pay _too_ much attention to the people around them. He tried not to think too hard on it, but Jason _was_ right. She was an assassin. And even though she wasn’t paying _much_ attention to them, Bruce could tell she’d probably catalogued how many people were there, in the restaurant, and how many were outside, by the way she did a quick sweep of the area with her eyes. 

Just as he had.

He was trying not to dwell on the fact _that_ was second nature to her. He’d trained Dick to do the same by her age, after all. Just perhaps a lot less violently. 

Their next stop was the mall. 

It was busy, unfortunately, but not overwhelmingly so, and Cassandra looked around curiously as Bruce led her into Best Buy by her hand. It was such a large place with so many people, he didn’t feel comfortable enough to let her roam freely. 

Just because she could follow him fine in a Wendy’s didn’t mean the same would hold true in a giant store, filled with dozens of people. 

Plus, she seemed so much more _relaxed_ when Bruce was holding her hand. Perhaps she felt more secure? Knowing Bruce was right there? He had no idea. 

Once again, he looked forward to the day she could _voice_ her feelings. 

Picking up the iPad and various accessories ended up taking ten minutes, tops. And most of that time was spent waiting in line, behind someone who didn’t wait for the pick up ready email, like the order confirmation email clearly stated to do. In large, bold letters. 

The staff member offered to help Bruce set it up, but he declined the option. He was perfectly capable of turning on an iPad, all by himself. 

_Did people honestly need assistance?_

But the pickup was so quick, and Cassandra seemed so relaxed, just following him around, Bruce decided to try one more store… 

They’d all been dying to get her out shopping. 

And by they, he of course meant mainly him, Alfred, and Selina. 

It was so difficult to choose things _for_ her. Clothing. Shoes. Toiletries. Decor. All sorts of things that usually a child was very vocal about, Cassandra, up until that point, had had no say in. 

There was no real way to make her _have_ a say in it, either. Showing her options on Amazon never resulted in her picking out which bedding set she wanted, or which t-shirt was her favorite. It usually just led to her pointing to the objects, and repeating back the names of them. 

Which was great. But not what they’d been looking for.

 _In store,_ however. 

Perhaps he could get her to pick something. 

With a squeeze of Cassandra’s hand, Bruce said, “Let’s go to the toy store, then we’ll go home.” 

Cassandra merely smiled at him, and squeezed his hand back, so he headed to the toy store, walking at a leisurely pace, letting Cassandra take in everything around them. 

When they finally arrived, Bruce wasn’t quite sure where to start. 

She clearly didn’t understand the point of toys, if her experience with the play-dough was any indication. 

Or the week and a half she’d spent with them already. Many times she’d been around, when Damian and Tim were playing with different things. Legos, usually. Sometimes action figures and army men and tanks, as they turned the entire living room into a war zone. 

Every time, she’d simply sat to the side, watching what they were doing. Never once joining in, even when Tim put legos in her hands. She did much better with games. Things with clear objectives. 

Imaginative play was what she needed… 

And she liked soft things. She often hugged her blanket tight, as if she got comfort from simply having it in her arms. 

So maybe…

The stuffed animal aisle in this store was likely his favorite in all the toy stores in Gotham. 

Granted, he was a little bias. Because it _was_ the store they bought Mr. Cow at. And the three extras Bruce had stashed in an unused closet. He’d rotated them out, when Damian was very little and too young to notice, mostly so they could wash the cow without tantrums, but he hadn’t switched them in a good five years at that point. If anything did happen to the cow, the back ups were there. But at that point, it probably wouldn’t feel like the same stuff animal to Damian. 

But beside that point, the store sold some quality stuffed animals, and he couldn’t think of a better _first_ toy, than one of them. 

Bruce waved his arm, gesturing at the huge aisle, crammed full of stuffed animals on both sides, and said, “Pick one.” 

Cassandra just stared at him, then followed his hand and let her gaze sweep over all the toys. She clearly had no idea what Bruce was _really_ telling her to do, so Bruce pulled her forward by her hand, then let go, trying to encourage her to _step in_ and look around. 

“Go on,” he prompted, when she looked back at him again. He gestured at the shelves, again, and tried his best to say _pick one._

Whether she understood what he wanted, he didn’t know. But she _did_ start looking down the aisle, slowly wandering down it as she did. Bruce kept close, but hopefully just enough for comfort. To let her know he was still there, but wasn’t completely controlling what she did. 

After looking up one side of the aisle, and then working her way down the other, Cassandra stopped right in the middle and cocked her head. 

“What’d you find?” he asked, as he walked over and knelt down next to her, trying to see what she was seeing. The store had _so many_ stuffed animals, that there were, at most, five copies of a single one on the shelf. Some of the options had only _one_ copy. 

“Batman,” Cassandra said, pointing at a dark plush toy, hidden behind a few different rainbow colored cats. 

Bruce reached in and pulled out the toy she was pointing at, and sure enough, it _was_ a Batman. Just. Not a doll, like the one Dick owned. _Insisted_ on owning, when he was ten. And a brat. 

This one wasn’t a doll, though. It was a stuffed dog, wearing a Batman outfit. Not even an accurate one, either. It more resembled Dick’s Robin outfit, in the t-shirt and leotard style, with a cape and cowl, the dog’s snout, arms, and legs poking out from the black, gray, and yellow fabric. 

Because apparently that was something the world needed.

“That’s right, it’s a Batman. Bat… dog,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the… thing, and down at Cassandra. Even though she wasn’t smiling, it was clear how pleased she was with the toy. Her eyes were outright shining, and her whole face had lifted, along with her body as she stood up on her tip toes, clearly wanting to ask to hold it, without quite knowing _how._

 _“_ Here,” he said, holding it down for her. 

Almost _eagerly,_ she took it from him and started looking it over, tugging at its cape and cowl. 

“It doesn’t come off.” 

“Batman,” she said, looking up at Bruce as she pointed at the cowl. 

“Batdog,” Bruce said, absolutely refusing to share a name with the toy. Yes, it was _dressed_ like Batman, but they were not going to name the toy that. 

Cassandra mouthed the word, a few times, as she looked back at her new toy and pet at its head. “Ace,” she finally said, tugging on the cowl again. 

“Ace is a dog,” Bruce agreed, as he set a hand on her back and gently pushed her, getting her to start walking toward the register. 

On the way to the register, they passed the puzzle display, so Bruce stopped and tried to pick a couple out for her. She ended up helping, by pointing at different pictures. Bruce named them as she did, “Cats. Flowers. Space,” and, he honestly wasn’t sure, “Rapunzel?” it was from one of the Disney movies, he knew that much. 

Regardless, he picked them all up, getting a total of five new puzzles for her, in a variety of difficulty levels. Whether she’d have the attention span required to finish the 1000 piece puzzle, he had no idea. But Tim would probably _love_ doing it with her. Jason, even, too. If Bruce could convince him to play with her. He enjoyed puzzles well enough, if other people did them with him. 

“Let’s check out, Cassy,” he said, when she pointed at yet another puzzle. His hands were full, and he wanted to see her put together at least one puzzle, before he bought her a ton of them. 

Cassandra followed along, with a spring in her step as she continued looking at her dog, as happy as ever. And when Bruce asked her to put it on the counter, by pointing at the dog, then tapping on the counter, Cassandra handed it up to the cashier with an informative, “Ba-do’.” 

“Batdog,” Bruce both clarified and confirmed, as he ran his hand down the back of Cassandra’s hair a couple times, “Good job.” 

“I just love your Batdog,” the cashier said, as she scanned the dog, “Would you like to hold him?” 

When Bruce motioned for Cassandra to take it back, she did, grinning even wider. 

And when she immediately pulled it close, wrapping both her arms around it… well. 

Bruce figured she wasn’t _completely_ lost when it came to being a kid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that was three chapters in three days. Because, yeah. Saturday I updated Reclaiming Innocence, yesterday I updated Jason & The Three Terrors, and today this! Woohoo. 
> 
> There will probably definitely not be an update again until the weekend, since I have to be in at work for the rest of the week. 😞 And I just stayed up so late, I'm going to HATE myself tomorrow. But I wanted Cassandra to get batdog. Hope you guys enjoyed the fluff. We're gonna have to keep moving with the story, now, though. 😂
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving nice comments, if you do! ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every Sunday. 
> 
> [Come chat with me on Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com/)


End file.
